


One For The Humans

by dylanobrien



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylanobrien/pseuds/dylanobrien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When most of your social circle is made up of werewolves, you start to feel invincible. Then Chris Argent spills everything to Stiles' father, and all at once he finds out just how human he really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the end notes; nothing hardcore, just something some people like to be warned for, I think? It's kind of a plot point. Also uses the information we have so far for S3 so character spoilers.
> 
>  **edit:** hi this was kind of an early fanfic attempt so i'm not like 100% ABOUT it you know but i almost definitely probably won't delete it

"Hey, Stiles? I've got an early shift in the morning, I'm gonna get some sleep-" Sheriff Stilinski stops as he reaches the doorway of Stiles' room, with a heavy sigh. It's empty, again, bed messily unmade, and he's not really sure why he expected any differently. If he gets a call in the middle of the night to tell him that Stiles has been hanging around another crime scene... Maybe he'll just let it go to voicemail.

But he knows he won't, and isn't that just a tragedy.

He presses his lips together, shakes his head, and starts to head to the master bedroom when there's a knock on the front door. Fleetingly he considers just ignoring it, because it's - he checks his watch - eleven o'clock at night, and nothing good ever happens when someone knocks on your door at eleven o'clock at night. But there's another knock, a little more impatient, like whoever it is knows that he's considering letting them cool on the doorstep, and he grumbles to himself all the way down the stairs to the hall.

"Mr. Argent."

There's no surprise in his voice, not really, because he's the Sheriff after all and all sorts of people come to him for all sorts of things. But there is apprehension, because he has a tentative connection to Chris through Stiles, and Scott, and Allison, which could make this a more personal matter - not to mention that the Sheriff had been on duty the night that the man's wife died, which makes him feel strangely guilty in a way that he probably shouldn't.

"Sheriff Stilinski." Chris nods his head in greeting. The Sheriff waits for more, but when Chris doesn't seem to be forthcoming he makes a vague gesture to encompass the house.

"If you're looking to talk to Stiles he's not home right now, but I can tell him you stopped by. He's not in any kind of trouble, is he?"

Chris seems strangely reluctant to answer that, and it's the expression like Argent has found something funny in what he said, more than anything else, which prompts the Sheriff to step to one side with narrowed eyes.

"Maybe you and I should have a talk. Can I get you some coffee?"

Argent accepts with a thankful smile that shows too many teeth, and the Sheriff sighs as he puts on a pot. So much for getting a good night's sleep.

*

It's two hours later when Stiles finally trips through the back door, possibly trying but clearly failing to make as little noise as possible. He doesn't notice the light in the living room that's still on until he's halfway up the stairs, and his dad calls him back down.

"In here, Stiles."

Stiles tries not to make even his footsteps sound too guilty as he walks back to the living room, with a grin he's in way too much physical pain to really feel up to but is going to try his damnedest to make work anyway. The grin falters quickly when he sees his father sitting opposite Chris Argent on the sofa, two cold coffee mugs in between them. Only Chris' is empty.

"Mr, uh... Argent? Dad. Look, I'm really sorry, me and Scott just got caught up, you know, he's just got the new Halo game, we were just-"

"Stiles. Just stop."

Oh God, this is bad.

Stiles falls silent and looks between the two of them for some solid hint to the topic of conversation. His dad's voice is calm, and it's putting him on edge. _Just tell me to go to bed. Confiscate the jeep or something, anything, just don't ask me something I can't answer_ , Stiles wills him, almost begging with his eyes. But his father just sets his mug, still mostly full of gross cold coffee, on the table in between them with his eyes on Chris.

Chris has turned now, facing front so Stiles can only see his face in profile, but it's not going to stop Stiles from sending him the angriest vibes he can, along with some very directed glares.

"Were you with Derek Hale?"

The question comes almost completely out of left field, and Stiles' eyes snap back to his father in shock.

"W-... what?"

The Sheriff's eyebrows raise in an expression Stiles can only assume means that he's not asking twice. Stiles swallows, and hates himself for the ease with which he can slip into denial.

"No, why would you ask me that? I told you, I was at Scott's, I haven't seen Derek in, ah... God, you know... Weeks."

There's no point in pretending that he has no idea what he's talking about, but his dad still looks down at his own clasped hands then, a tic in his jaw working. Stiles guesses that somehow he's given the wrong answer but he can't figure out exactly how.

Another thought occurs to him and suddenly he thinks he knows why Chris is making sure to not look at Stiles. His mouth opens to accuse, but before he can his dad interrupts.

"How'd you get that bruise, Stiles?" The question is almost casual.

Stiles nearly asks which one, because there were so many sometimes they actually fused into one giant landmass of purple and pain, but then he remembers that his head is still aching and reaches up a hand to rub his forehead gingerly.

"What, this? I fell off my chair at school today, hit my face on Scott's stupid desk. They really shouldn't put those things so far apart, it's definitely a health and safety hazard. I mean, I get that it's to try to stop kids from cheating, or talking, but you know, I-I get lonely?"

His father sits back in his seat with that tried and tested sigh of exasperation Stiles has heard from way too many adults recently, and Chris - Chris is hiding a smirk. The self-satisfied smile of a job well done, of a man who knows Stiles is digging himself into a deeper hole with every sentence.

Stiles' mouth is hanging open by this point, and he's absolutely certain, now, that there's no point in denying anything any more.

"You told him, didn't you?"

He's furious as he moves around the sofa to see Chris better, and Chris finally looks at him with cool blue eyes. God, Kate and Gerard were one thing - well, two things, two _really annoying_ and 'thank-God-for-their-painful-deaths' things - but this is something else. Stiles didn't exactly trust the hunter, but he thought he would at least play fair. To find out that Chris was just as much of a bastard-

"Hey!" His father's voice stops him in his tracks and Stiles falls back, if mutinously angry. "Chris is just concerned, that's all. You do not get to be angry with him."

Stiles turns sharply to his father, because if Chris is the one to have spilled everything to his dad then he's clearly told him the 'hunter' version of events, which is pretty skewed, to say the least, and Stiles can tell he's going to have to do some damage control here.

"'Concerned'- are you freakin' kidding me? The only thing we ever have to be 'concerned' about half the time is him!"

"Stiles-" Both Stilinskis look at Chris, who's sitting forward. "It's for the best that your father knows. Derek Hale is much older than you and has a rather... colourful criminal record-"

"Alleged, alright?" Stiles holds up a hand and corrects automatically, but judging by the look on his dad's face it hasn't helped his case as much as he thought it would.

Chris smiles gently. "Alleged. Criminal record, and I'm sure you can't blame me for being a little worried about what you kids are getting yourselves into around him."

Something's not ringing right in his words, and Stiles narrows his eyes at him, can see Chris waiting for him to figure it out. And then he does.

The bastard. The absolute, unbelievable _bastard_.

"So what, you come here making out like Derek's some kind of perverted creep who preys on teenage kids? _That's_ what you've told him?" Stiles voice is shaking with a quiet fury now, and he wishes it would stop so he doesn't sound like he's going to burst into tears like an unstable teenager. "Like Derek doesn't actually have some kind of _completely_ legitimate reason to hang around with-... with them?"

"And what would you call a 'legitimate reason' for Derek Hale to be hanging around a bunch of teenagers, Stiles?" His father is standing up now, arms folded and fists clenched like he's trying not to reach out for his son, because violence didn't typically play well in front of guests.

Stiles falls silent and stays that way, because Chris _hasn't_ told his dad about werewolves and now Stiles' whole brain is screaming at him not to tell him either, because he can't figure out if it would make the situation better or ten times worse. There's a pros and cons list a mile long on his computer upstairs, but he wasn't expecting that he would actually have to make that call and he doesn't know if he can right now.

"Because you're dating. Right, Stiles?"

The speed with which Stiles' jaw drops in a betrayed disbelief is only matched by how fast his father's hand shoots out to grip his arm, and Stiles is only indistinctly aware that he took a step towards Chris. They're both staring at Argent now, and Chris looks suddenly sheepishly reticent. Only, Stiles knows that it's bullshit because he can see the careful calculatedness behind each expression, but his dad appears to be falling for the act.

"You might have led with that little fact."

"I'm sorry, Sheriff, I thought you already knew."

Stiles is still a little in awe of how skillfully Argent's managed to twist the situation into something so completely wrong to his dad, and he thinks he sees a flicker of regret as Chris looks away from him, but he's probably just imagining it.

His dad uses the tight grip on his arm to turn him around.

"Stiles, I can't believe I have to ask this: are you dating Derek Hale?"

"No, Dad! I'm not - we're not dating, okay, there's no _dating_. At all. Not even between Scott and Allison, by the way, so I don't actually know why you're bothering to come here to try to destroy _my_ life-"

"Stiles!" The hand on his arm gives it a rough shake, drawing his attention back from Chris again. Stiles looks at his dad's face, sees the anger and the worry and the apprehension, like he's preparing for the worst.

"Are you," he pauses, and Stiles thinks it's for dramatic effect until he speaks again, " _sleeping_ with Derek Hale?"

Stiles' mouth is gaping wide open and it probably doesn't look all that attractive. He sometimes forgets that his father is the sheriff for a reason, and he's actually pretty good at what he does.

"Jesus, Stiles. _Jesus_." Sheriff Stilinski finally releases him and sits down, and Stiles scrambles to deter him, but his silence has already done the damage.

"I'm not sleeping with Derek! I swear to God Dad, okay, you wanna hook me up to a polygraph? We aren't- he is not... Uh-" His voice ends on a thoroughly unmanly half-squeak, and he abruptly stops. The sheriff just lets him talk himself out.

"The worst part-" The sheriff stops, collects himself and tries again. "Stiles, the worst part is that you're _still_ lying to me."

Stiles' fists uncurl and his shoulders lose some of their tension, and he thinks that maybe, he might have to accept this one as a loss. He's always thought that there's nothing he wouldn't be ready to fight back against, but right now... There might not be anything he can defend himself with. Chris has really done a number on his father, picked the perfect 'one-concerned-parent-to-another' disguise and laser-focused everything on one easy-to-blame parental nightmare: Derek. Probably with a fair heap of the blame on the rest of the pack too, if Stiles knows anything about anything.

Chris gets to his feet. "I should get going. I'm sorry for disturbing you so late, Sheriff."

The sheriff waves a hand, getting up to see him to the door. "Oh please, don't apologise. Always good to hear stories of Stiles's adventures."

Chris stops as he passes Stiles, still silent in shock and resignation. "I am sorry, Stiles."

Stiles lets him pass without comment, even though there are a dozen four-letter 'comments' he could probably throw at him. He'll almost definitely be grounded until he's twenty-one anyway, another few days on top probably wouldn't make a difference.

Chris stops in the open doorway like he has to make sure he really hammers the point home, though Stiles is pretty sure his dad gets it already. "I'm afraid I didn't see the signs quickly enough where Kate and Derek were concerned. What with him being sixteen at the time, and the tragic way it ended... I was worried the cycle might have been repeating itself."

He doesn't need to say it, but the word 'abuse' and all its implications is ringing so clearly around the room Stiles could probably see it from space. He can definitely see it pecking away at his father. They both glance back to Stiles who's shaking his head vehemently and biting his tongue hard to stop himself from just yelling and slamming the door on Chris, but then his dad zeroes in on the bruise on his chin and Stiles can see his jaw set.

"Thank you." He doesn't say anything more, and Chris takes the hint and heads out.

Stiles stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, watching his father at the front door with his hand still on the doorknob and his head down. He swallows and finds himself wishing suddenly that Chris hadn't left, not out of any - _any_ \- affection for the man, but because now it's just him and his father, who's definitely more Sheriff than Dad right now.

They're both very acutely aware that it's half past one in the morning, and at any raised voices Mrs. Sandridge next door will bang on the wall and complain for ten minutes in the grocery store queue the next day. Stiles has just spent the evening with Derek trying to track a particularly nasty omega who seems to have been drawn by the recent activity with the alpha pack, and he got thrown into a tree for his trouble - hence the bruise - so he's really not in the mood to do this right now. He's about to suggest that they just get some sleep and deal with it in the morning, but his dad speaks then, clearly not so ready to give it up.

"Sit down."

Stiles sits. He leans back against the sofa cushions with his feet together and his fingers fidgeting in his lap - probably not giving off an air of particular confidence but even at seventeen, with all the crap he's seen, he's still appropriately chastened when his father uses that tone of voice.

At least his dad's trying to make it easier on him, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so he's closer to Stiles and at almost the same eye level.

The sheriff looks as though he's considering every word very carefully before he speaks.

"Has Derek ever... forced you to do anything you didn't want to do?"

The part of him that wants him to brush this off as nothing springs the quick and smartass answer to the front of his mind - the answer being ' _Oh my God, so many things_ ' - but in this case it's definitely the wrong path to take, and he has to take this deadly seriously if he ever actually wants to see light outside a classroom or the house again.

"Dad, I swear to God, nothing has happened." The look on his father's face tells Stiles that that ship has sailed, so he decides to try a different tack.

"You can't get me to do anything I don't want to do, remember? Me, breaking my arm in fourth grade because I fell out of the tree that I tried to climb to the top of when you asked me to help clear out the garage? Whatever relationship I may, or _may not_ and emphasis once again on the _not_ have with Derek, is completely consensual and totally safe."

"Good." His father nods, and at least this he seems to believe, because some of the tension eases out of his shoulders. Stiles is a little surprised, because this is definitely not what he was expecting.

"...Good?"

"Good." His father agrees heavily, and Stiles tries for a grin.

"Good!"

"Great." The sheriff gets to his feet. "You're not seeing him any more."

The grin slides straight back off again.

"Dad!"

"No arguments about this one, Stiles. Derek Hale is twenty-three years old and still a person of interest in at least three murders. Remember? You accused him of two of them." The sheriff sounds impressively sarcastic; Stiles sometimes forgets where he gets it from.

"Yeah, Dad, I remember, and I got it wrong, okay?" Stiles protests, "What was I supposed to think when there was half a dead body in his backyard? Weren't those cases closed? And that was before I even knew him-"

"You're not going to see him again. You won't go to his house - Hell, you won't even go _near_ the Preserve without my express permission-"

"Dad, come on, this is a little over the top-"

"This is the least of it, Stiles! Do you even understand-" Stiles shuts up, wisely figuring that the more he spoke, the bigger the hole he was digging. "Is this the part where you try to convince me that all the trouble you've been in over the past year has nothing whatsoever to do with him?"

"It absolutely doesn't." Stiles says quickly, and his dad actually laughs. Granted, it's more frustrated than actually amused, but it's something. "Okay, it kinda does, but definitely not in the way that you think."

"Not - what I think? Tell me Stiles, what do I think, because frankly? I have no idea what to think. I _thought_ my son was mature enough that he would recognise the stupidity in getting involved with a man like Derek Hale. I _thought_ my son was smart enough not to go looking for dead bodies in the woods in the middle of the night. _I thought_ , that my son wasn't _reckless_ enough to steal a police van and _kidnap_ \- not just his classmate - but the son of a very important lawyer who's made it his mission to make life as difficult for the station as possible-"

His father stops then, as though he's revealed something he didn't mean to, and Stiles lowers his eyes. God. He knows was their only option at the time, but it doesn't stop him still feeling guilty.

"Jackson's dad is still causing problems?"

"It's fine, Stiles. Nothing we're not dealing with." His tone is clearly telling Stiles to drop it, and for once Stiles doesn't want to argue. Instead he tries to salvage whatever he might have left from this, steering the conversation back.

"Dad, you have to just trust me on this, okay? Me and Derek Hale? Not a thing. Not even a thing of a thing. Barely even a thing of a thing of a thing. There isn't anything there to worry about." Except for the constant overwhelming fear of a messy and brutal death at any moment, but that might not go down so well. And whatever he and Derek are right now... is definitely not a thing he wants to explain in detail to his father. "And whatever's been going on has nothing to do with him, he just kinda... happens to be there. Like me. Total accidents, every time. It's not even just him, you know, it's sort of a... group effort?"

He scrunches up his face semi-questioningly, and his father is quiet.

"Does that include Scott? And the rest of the teens who hang around with Derek?"

"Yes. No!" Stiles mentally kicks himself and backtracks. "Yes, but it's not any of their faults, dad, it's just a series of really..." He grasps for a phrase that isn't the title of a series and fails, miserably, "unfortunate... events."

His dad clearly doesn't get the reference, or just doesn't care, and is quiet for a while. Stiles sits back after a minute or two of silence, and then tries to plead once more.

"Dad, it's-" _not what you think_ , he wants to say, but he doesn't, because he knows that he would then be forced to explain the actual truth, and he's really hoping to save that one for a life or death, no-other-option kind of conversation someday. But there's no way that the current argument is going to end well for anyone.

"It's not them. All right? It was me. They were all my really stupid ideas, it's all... my fault."

His dad just looks at him, for a really long time, and shakes his head.

"I don't believe you."

And doesn't that just feel like a solid kick to the stomach.

"Stiles, I don't want you seeing these people any more. None of them."

"...What?" Stiles is half-laughing, because he's pretty sure right now that he somehow interpreted that wrong. His dad is not laughing.

"You're not to go to their houses, you won't hang around with them after school. I don't want you talking to them. Make some new friends, Stiles." His father's voice is firm, and definite, but Stiles is still stuck on the part where he's being banned from the pack by his dad of all people.

"But Dad... Scott...?"

A regretful expression covers his father's face, and he actually looks away, but back a second later just to be sure that Stiles doesn't mistake it for weakness. "You have other friends, Stiles. You need to prove to me that you can be trusted again, and with the type of people that you're spending your time with now, it just doesn't seem all that likely that you will."

Stiles is only half-listening, his previously sleepy mind now whirring as he tries to come up with ways around this, ways to keep being involved. Scott needs him - hell, even Derek needs him to save his stupid life, he can't just... not hang around with them anymore.

Sheriff Stilinski clearly knows him all too well. "I'm calling the school in the morning, and I'm going to tell them to watch out for Derek on the premises where he has, apparently, been sighted before. And I'm calling the parents of Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd and Isaac Lahey, and I'm going to advise them to keep a closer eye on these kids. And I'll talk to Scott's mom too, make sure she knows." He raises a hand over his son's protestations. "Stiles, these kids are in extremely vulnerable positions and Derek Hale is taking advantage of that, even if you don't see it."

Stiles thinks back to the mouse that Erica was, the antisocial trainwrecks that were Boyd and Isaac, and he knows not one of them would give up their newfound confidence, strength and - yes - douchebag ways.

"It's not like that, Dad, it- it isn't what you think it is."

"Oh, I know." The sheriff's answer surprises Stiles into silence. "I just spent two hours with the man, I know when I'm being manipulated. I'm not _stupid_ , Stiles. There is something going on, and it does involve Derek Hale, and apparently half your Chem class. I can't control that. Know what I can control?"

Stiles, still speechless, points reluctantly to himself. The sheriff only raises his eyebrows sympathetically in response.

"Dad, just - this just seems really crazy excessive, okay, just rethink this in the morning, _please_ \- I mean come on, my grades haven't even dropped, have they?"

"I'm not gonna change my mind, Stiles. This isn't about your schoolwork. This is about your safety and the safety of those kids, and it's been going on for too long. I need to do something about it, even... Even if you don't want to talk to me after. I'm doing this to protect you, Stiles."

To his credit at least the sheriff looks like the expression on Stiles' face is killing him, but Stiles wants more than anything to just say _'So am I'_ and spill everything.

" _Dad_." Stiles tries for one last broken plea, but he already knows it's pointless. His father isn't budging.

He rubs a hand over his head and through the hair that he grew out over the summer, absent-mindedly forgetting that it's not buzzed short any more and coming out with hair product on his hand that Scott's been teaching him how to use. He wipes the hand against his jeans as his dad gets to his feet and then stands up along with him, trying to tell himself that if he's waiting for the perfect opportunity then he might just be waiting forever.

"Dad, wait."

And he can't do it. The sheriff turns in the doorway to look at him, he can see the hope in his face that his son might finally come clean, and Stiles is completely lost for words. He wants to tell him, so badly, because it would make his life so much easier. Then suddenly all the reasons not to hit him at once: his dad will be in danger, it isn't Stiles' secret to tell, the sheriff might just ban them all anyway and involve his gun for good measure, he might not believe him or _it might not fix anything anyway_ \- and Stiles can only stand mute with a paralysing feeling of selfishness.

He's not sure what's worse - the look of disappointment, or that his dad seems to have expected it.

"Get some sleep, Stiles. You've got school tomorrow."

"Am I grounded?" Stiles desperately throws up an arm as his dad leaves, but he hears the chuckle from the hallway.

Perfect. _Perfect_.

*

"How could it go so wrong?" Stiles moans into his arm, but Scott has crazy super hearing when he can be bothered with it, so he's pretty sure he can still hear even over a crappy Skype connection. "Seriously. Everything that I imagined could possibly go wrong with that conversation - it was somehow worse!"

He raises his head to see Scott looking at him sympathetically.

"I mean, seriously, can you believe that guy?"

"I know, dude. I mean, I know I'm supposed to like him because of Allison, and he's not actively trying to kill me right now, but he still kinda scares me." Scott actually looks around before he says that like he's admitting some big secret, and Stiles wants to slam his face against his desk in frustration.

Pretty much the second he was back in his room he was logged on to his computer, searching for Scott's name in the Skype online list. He wasn't too worried that his best friend might be asleep at 2AM, even on a school night - he and Scott had been known (heh) to pull Call of Duty all-nighters, and they'd even done some early experiments to test how long werewolves could go without sleep (the answer was not long, but that might just be Scott. They did learn that Stiles could stay up all night as an Olympic sport, though). Scott had been there, of course, and Stiles had recounted everything in brutal detail.

"Buddy, you gotta help me figure out how to get around this. He's gonna get my teachers to report back to him! This is so far from okay!"

"Why don't you tell him the truth?" Stiles glances at Scott to see his eyes crinkled in confusion, and shrugs.

"I didn't... I don't know, I just didn't want to put you guys in danger like that. Plus, there's no way he would ever have believed me. Can you imagine? It would just be like I was mocking him, it would have made things, like, a hundred times worse."

"Well... I could come over. Maybe do a demonstration?"

Scott leans closer to his screen, looking uncertain, and Stiles is momentarily stunned that he wants to help. Not because he's normally unhelpful or anything, but the last time Scott revealed his secret to an adult she didn't talk to him for a week, and she was his _mom_.

"Are you sure? It's kind of... Your secret, you know, I don't want to pressure you into showing him or anything."

Scott's nodding, looking more excited about the plan than Stiles feels. "Yeah, definitely. It's about time your dad found out, right? We can't keep it from him forever, probably..."

"Okay, yeah." Stiles is pretty sure his father is still awake, which is why he's keeping his own voice low. "Okay. So you'll come over now, right? And Derek can come as well, actually, the more the better."

Scott looks hurt. "Derek? Why d'you need Derek?"

"What? I don't- he's just- Scott, he's right there."

Scott squints at the corner of his computer screen to look at what Stiles is seeing, and then spins around with a yelp as he spots Derek with his arms folded, looming impatiently in the corner of his room. Stiles hadn't noticed him until about halfway through the conversation, at which point he just went with it, trying to pretend he knew he was there the entire time and figuring Scott had just forgotten to mention him.

"What the hell, Derek?! I thought you weren't gonna do that any more?"

Stiles presses his lips together to hide a grin, but it swiftly disappears as Derek moves closer and reaches past Scott for his computer. Stiles knows what's coming so he tries to move his face down along with the screen, as Derek lowers the lid of the laptop to close it over Scott's protests.

"So you're coming by, right? I'm just gonna wait-!" Scott's signal disconnects and Stiles rights himself with a sigh, "-here. I'll wait here. It's fine. I'm fine. It's fine."

He taps a pen against the desk, shuts his own computer down, goes to open the window and then settles on his bed with a textbook to wait for Scott. He lasts for an hour and a quarter before he finally falls asleep with the book flat on his chest, as the night sky starts to lighten.

*

Thanks to tiredness and Scott finally making use of those werewolf ninja skills (also known as 'ducking out of sight really fast'), Scott somehow manages to avoid him until lunch the next day. Stiles finally corners him heading into the lunch hall, because if there's one constant in this universe it's Scott and food. He grabs hold of his arm and pulls him away to find somewhere quiet, and Scott allows himself to be towed, if reluctantly.

Stiles doesn't let go until they reach the next corridor, which is marginally more empty. He finally turns to face him, smacking him on the arm - lightly, because he knows werewolf Scott could take it but old habits die hard and all, and old Scott really couldn't take a punch.

"Dude, what the hell? You were supposed to come over last night."

Scott's looking at the students passing by, which isn't a crime in itself but Stiles can tell that he's just trying to avoid looking at Stiles, which actually kind of _is_ a crime.

"Yeah. Sorry, man, I just... Maybe it isn't such a good idea. Telling your dad, I mean. You know how my mom reacted, and your dad kinda has a gun..."

"Really? Come on - okay, Derek, I'll give you, but you're _Scott_. My dad's not gonna shoot you. I really need your help on this, buddy. Please."

He hates how needy that makes him sound, but Scott still isn't looking directly at him, and his dad told him over breakfast that morning that if he broke the rules then he was going to start confiscating things from Stiles one at a time no matter how difficult it made Stiles' life, starting with his Jeep and then his laptop. It's really in everyone's best interests to stop the whole situation before it gets too desperate. Plus, if he can't be desperate and pathetic in front of Scott, who can he be desperate and pathetic in front of?

Still Scott won't meet his eyes.

"Listen - maybe your dad's right. Maybe you're better off staying out of- of everything. The whole werewolf thing, maybe you should just... stay away for a little while."

Stiles can barely believe what he's hearing Scott say. This is officially the worst 24 hours of his life. What kind of freaky parallel universe did he fall into last night? And the worst thing is that he can't even think of a good argument, because if Scott's decided he doesn't need him any more, then maybe he doesn't have anything to stick around for. There's only one thing his frozen mind can reply with.

"...Scott."

The word is so full of disbelief and hurt that it makes Scott flinch, but that's the only reminder of his best friend that he's seen so far in the conversation.

"What- Has everyone in my life taken crazy pills? You're seriously siding with my Dad? He's saying we can't see each other, are you getting that? Not until you stop hanging around with Derek." He pauses as this hits him. "Wait, that's fine. You've just gotta stop hanging out with Derek. Job done, right, you don't even like the guy."

Scott looks at him, big brown eyes doleful and pitying. Just like that, Stiles knows that this is another battle he's lost. It seems to be all he's doing lately.

"Stiles, I'm sorry. You can't hang around with us any more."

He turns to leave, and Stiles is rooted to the spot. He wants to laugh, until he's bent double and can barely catch his breath, because Scott makes it sound like they're six and Stiles can just go and bop someone else with a plastic shovel until they let him play with them. But he can't laugh, can't even crack a grin, because _Scott is walking away from him_. Scott is choosing Derek and his pack over Stiles, and it's different than all the times he chose Allison because hell - Stiles was probably their biggest supporter.

He watches Scott leave, and goes to find Erica.

*

The good news is that Erica, Isaac and Boyd all react more or less the same way: sympathy, and agreement. The truly terrible part is that they agree with his Dad, not him. Stiles is left again open-mouthed, because somehow he's been cut clean out of the Pack without meaning to be and he's trying to convince himself that it isn't his fault and _failing_.

There's no way that Derek doesn't have something to do with this, he thinks grimly as he battles to find Lydia through the swarm of students just come from latin or classical theatre or how to rule the universe, or whatever they did in that classroom. He squirms in pain as nails dig into his arm, but at least they're regular Lydia nails and not creepy werewolf claws, so he stops pulling away and follows her into the now-empty room.

She lets go suddenly and he nearly drops the textbook he's carrying, barely catching it with some deft footwork and flailing arms. Once he's a little more balanced she raises her eyebrow disdainfully, and he's glad that if anything at least Lydia seems to be totally normal.

"Here's the thing. Derek might seem like a great guy with a secret heart of gold, and Scott might look like he needs you trailing around him like a little lost puppy," That was new. Usually Scott got the puppy references, "But you need to have a little more self-respect than that."

"Uhh..." Stiles clutches the textbook to his chest, a little unsure about what he's supposed to reply with, or to. But then he shrugs off his backpack and drops the book (in it, on it, somewhere nearby it, whatever) and shakes his head.

"Okay. That's easy enough to say, Lydia, less easy to pull off. I don't think convincing them I don't need them is going to make the point that I actually do need them, any clearer." He's pretty sure she's smiling faintly. At least someone seems happy with the turn of events. He waves his hands.

"No - they need _me_ , alright? This is not a one-way street of need. Who's gonna haul their little werewolf asses out when they run into a wolfsbane patch again, huh? Who else are they gonna terrorise into doing all their research, and..." Stiles is reaching, and he knows it. "And- and who else can they shove up against a wall when they're working out their aggression, and who else has a Jeep they can use as a personal cab, and who's he gonna call when he... When he..." _when he needs someone_ , because maybe Stiles and Derek had made progress in their relationship, a little - okay, a _lot_ more than anyone else knew.

Lydia was watching him, with an uncharacteristically soft expression. And he gets it.

"You. Of course."

Because Lydia can do anything Stiles can do while wearing very uncomfortable shoes. Not that Stiles hasn't tried them, but that was like one time.

Lydia's probably already gotten involved with the pack during the summer, while Stiles and Scott had played video games and chilled at the park the entire time. She probably already fills his space better than Stiles ever did, and she _probably_ doesn't even get consistently beaten up during it like Stiles did, because she's way smarter than him and he always knew it. And he can't even hate her for it, though he doesn't think he loves her any more either. But that isn't a new feeling.

"Is this just part of Derek's plan?"

She considers him, narrows her eyes suspiciously. "You do know about it?"

Oh my God, he was- "Oh my God, I was _right_?" She doesn't answer him, just frowns, and he frowns right back at her. "Okay, I don't know what it is, just that he's taken advantage of Allison's dad's totally unexplainable personal attack on me to really kick me while I'm down. So yeah, I know he's got a plan, and I'd like to know what it is, so I can laugh, and tell him that it's a stupid plan. Or at least figure out what I'm supposed to _do_ in this frankly terrible plan."

The pitying look he keeps getting is really starting to get on his nerves. Next person he gets it from, he's going to start throwing punches.

"Move on, Stiles."

She turns on her heel and leaves the classroom. That's when Stiles starts to feel really bad.

*

There's no way he can concentrate through the final period, so he ditches and instead heads straight for his Jeep. There's only one place he needs to be right now and if he doesn't get some freaking straight answers soon he's going to stab himself in the face. All paths lead to Derek.

The Jeep trundles steadily along the road towards the Hale house, leaves scattering in the tail winds, and Stiles is so focused on being angry that he doesn't notice the police cruiser hidden at the tree line until he's already passed it, and by then it's far too late to turn around and pretend he was never here. He rolls to a stop at the side of the road tiredly, waiting for the cruiser to pull in behind him, and by the time the sheriff walks up to the driver-side window Stiles' forehead is pressed against the steering wheel.

"Stiles."

"Hi Dad. What a coincidence. Imagine meeting you here." Stiles says monotonously, and he hears the sheriff sigh.

"Good day at school?"

"I was systematically rejected by everyone I once considered a friend." Stiles sits up now, excessively cheerful. "How about you, Dad? Must've been pretty boring waiting for me to drive past all day."

"Now that you mention it..." The sheriff glances back at the cruiser, and Stiles stares straight ahead at the empty road, a sea of orange as the autumn leaves fall lightly to carpet it.

"He's not there."

"I wasn't-" Stiles stops himself with a shake of his head, because yeah. There's no point in denying it.

The sheriff looks at his son, kindly. "Go home, Stiles." He pats the door, lightly, which Stiles thinks is meant to be reassuring but his arm is like, right next to it, and he could probably do with a little human contact right now.

"You're not taking my Jeep away?" Stiles says hopefully before his father can move too far, and the sheriff pulls a face.

"I'm not driving you home."

*

After a week, Stiles is still alone.

They were already a month into their junior school year, so any new friendships have already been made and Stiles wasn't a part of them. He had Scott, then, and the pack who weren't actually that bad when they weren't trying to kill him in a fit of bloodlust, so while he'd been friendly he hadn't made any real connections. Now he feels like the new kid, starting in the middle of semester, in a school he's attended since he was a kid.

He talks to people, gets involved with some groups sometimes, sits with them at lunch. Nobody really has long-term appeal, and he adds them to his facebook friends under the mental header 'delete after graduation'. Somehow the pack is always there, just in his peripheral vision. Sometimes he'll think he sees one of them watching him, and he'll turn to them, but it's just wishful thinking, because they're always in the middle of a laugh or story.

They actually seem a lot happier recently. Maybe his leaving actually did have a positive effect.

He wasn't expecting any of them to actually play ball with his dad's orders, and there's a half-formed thought in the back of his mind that maybe his dad called them and threatened them or something stupid like that. But he's pretty sure he can put the blame for it squarely onto Derek Hale.

Stiles still hasn't seen Derek since that night - either the school really followed through on his father's advice or Derek's been avoiding the grounds because Stiles hasn't even caught a glimpse of the Camaro, and he knows there's no point in trying to head over to his house again. If one of his dad's deputies didn't catch him, he'd only get exactly the same non-answers and vague threats as usual, and it wouldn't be helpful at all. Hey, if Derek doesn't want to see him, then he doesn't want to see Derek, and he definitely does _not_ want to see Derek.

The only thing he could do is beg pathetically for his role back in the pack anyway, and that doesn't sound appealing at all. Whatever Derek's stupid idea might have been, Stiles thinks that maybe he just wasn't supposed to be involved. The thought hurts him more than it should.

He stops going to lacrosse practice. Coach Finstock pins him down once after Econ pretty quickly.

"Stilinski! Why the hell weren't you at practice yesterday? You want any shot at first line this year, you gotta put some _effort_ into it, you hear me?"

Stiles makes some excuse up, something about an injury over the summer. Coach looks at him suspiciously, because he doesn't look injured, and Stiles doesn't even try to put on a limp or anything. They both know it's bullshit. It's ridiculous that this is actually pushing him out of his extra-curriculars as well, but with both Scott and Isaac still on the team (and better players than him, he's not kidding himself), he can't face sitting on the bench and watching them win game after game like he used to anymore.

Maybe that's what he was. Stiles Stilinski, personal cheerleader.

Sitting across the lunch hall from them, Stiles bends the straw in his drink between his teeth and chews on it, idly watching the group. Boyd looks cheerful, and from this far away he can see Erica's hand on his leg. Even Scott looks happy, deep in conversation with Isaac. Ah, there's that friendship that Stiles totally saw coming. He doesn't hate Isaac, he's pretty sure. Like, really deep down.

Lydia's not with them, and he's about to nickname it the Werewolf Table of Awesome Leather Coolitude but then he realises Jackson isn't there either. There was a rumour going around earlier in the week that Jackson's parents had pulled him out of school and were getting ready to move across the country after his 'near-death' last year and before, Stiles could have asked Derek or the pack what the truth is, but now he has to get his information elsewhere. Since talk between he and his dad is still strained, classroom gossip is all he has.

Scott looks different. Stiles noticed before, obviously, because this time last year his hair was long enough to practically form its own helmet around his head and he was a dorky, kinda goofy kid with an inhaler. Now he's taller, more confident, has much better hair and an updated wardrobe he's pretty sure was down to Allison - seriously, the guy is _cool_. And Stiles is really happy for him, because Stiles always knew who he wanted to be but Scott always had a little more trouble finding himself. Seeing him sitting there with the rest of the group, all of them so free with each other and sure of themselves, it makes him feel good. It does. He just wishes a little bit that they hadn't forgotten him so quickly.

Although, Boyd's looked over at him a couple of times now. Probably just trying to remember his name. Whatever. He and Boyd weren't that close anyway-

His view is blocked as a tray is set down in front of him, and a mess of dark curls sits in between him and the object of his intense scrutiny.

"Hey! I was... watching that." He grumbles, moving to pick at his food, and Allison grins, making a start on her own lunch.

"What... Them?" She pouts innocently. "Change the channel, Stiles."

They sit together in silence for a few minutes, Stiles picking at his food and Allison digging into hers happily, before Stiles blurts out, "Did you want something?"

She looks almost surprised, swallowing before she speaks. "No. Do I have to?"

Stiles shrugs. "No. I guess. I just haven't even seen you since last year. I wasn't actually sure you still went here."

She snorts softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "You've seen me. I sit right behind you in like, half your classes."

He tries not to furrow his brow while he thinks, but there's the distinct possibility he's somehow blocked her from his mind after some really terrible experiences with her - yeah, generally her whole family, at this point. She doesn't even seem surprised, waiting for him to make a guess at one.

"Err. Chemistry?"

She nods. "And pre-calc, and world history."

"Oh." He makes a vague attempt at eating a handful of fries, and spills half of them back on the plate while trying to shove them all in. Mostly to avoid talking. Allison doesn't take the hint, or rudely ignores it.

"I just figured we may as well hang around together. It's not like we have a whole lot of other options." She says it quite matter-of-factly, and Stiles is a little perplexed at how easily she seems to have adjusted to this total friend-void after having a whole social group. But then, he supposes she's had the whole summer to deal with it.

"Yeah, well, at least your exile is kind of self-imposed. Mine's more of a forced, 'one more screw-up and you're going to military school' type thing."

It's a joke, he hopes. He's not sure anymore.

Allison just shrugs at her food. "Doesn't make it any easier." She pauses. "They probably wouldn't talk to me even if I went over there."

"They probably wouldn't be able to over Scott's cries for your attention."

She meets his eyes, and both of them smile slightly, the first real smile he's cracked in ages. He hasn't made an Allison-joke in months, and he's a little gratified that Allison actually still gets them.

He glances up then, over Allison's shoulder, and Scott's eyes are on him. It's the first time he's seen Scott so much as glance his way in a week, and Stiles would be a little taken aback if he didn't remember who he was sitting with. Half of him is waiting for Scott to just leap up onto a table, wolfed-out, and carry Allison bodily away from him. Another part is nastily suggesting to himself that he look away, that he lean in to Allison just that little bit more, to engage her in conversation and ignore whatever vibes Scott is trying to send him and maybe start sending some of his own.

Neither happens. He holds Scott's gaze and tries to be reassuring, because he's still Scott's best friend even if Scott isn't his, and he's wondering how long he's going to feel that way because it's pretty fucking miserable. Eventually Scott looks away first, ducking his head as though he's nodding at whatever Isaac is saying. Stiles thinks that's probably not approval to date her or anything, but maybe the two rejects can be friends.

Stiles looks back at his tray, surprised that most of his fries are gone, but there's half of one in Allison's hand, and he tilts his head at her disapprovingly, though a little proud she managed to sneak them away.

"Movie nights at my place every Thursday."

He's allowed to make up traditions, right? And he's definitely not going over to hers. The longer he can avoid Chris Argent, the better, because whatever reasons the hunter may have had for setting off the whole clusterfuck in the first place, Stiles knows will just make him madder.

"Can I... make a suggestion for the movies?" Allison's looking at him, mischievously amused. "Anything but werewolves."

" _That_. Is... That is a definite maybe." He points the last remaining fry at her and she plucks half of it from his fingers. He lets her with a grin, because Allison's pretty good fun when she's a little more emotionally stable.

*

If Stiles had been asked (which he _wasn't_ , thanks), Allison Argent would not have been at the top of the list of people he would endure a forced exile with, especially given her family's history of bodily assault with him. But as it turns out, she's actually one of the greatest. He doesn't have to hide anything from her, and he can still make werewolf jokes, and his dad can't even complain seeing as it was _her_ dad who set the whole thing off.

She could kick his ass up and down CoD even though sometimes she makes him watch movies he's a little embarrassed to be seen renting, and she actually laughs at his stupid jokes rather than Scott's chuckles and eye-rolling, like he was too old for Stiles' humour - which Stiles had thought was funny, because it clearly wasn't the truth - and Derek's... Nothing. Derek's nothing, because Stiles wasn't thinking about them any more, not any of them.

Derek's nothing.

It takes a little time for both of them to really let each other in, and Stiles kind of wonders what if this is what it would have been like if Scott hadn't taken up both of their time for most of last year, because it turns out they actually get along great when they're not fighting for Scott's attention. Movie nights become a thing, and Stiles' dad actually starts letting Allison spend the night sometimes, though very deliberately leaves Stiles' door wide open.

Finally Stiles has a lab partner again, somebody to snigger at the grumpiest lunch lady and catch a ride with when his Jeep breaks down, someone to race in the pool during swimming lessons. Neither of them talk about the pack, or Derek, or their families, or the occasional moments when they catch each other looking for the group. She actually offers to take him to the archery range once, teach him how to shoot a bow, but he declines because they're probably not really there yet.

He's pretty sure everyone at school thinks they're dating, and he definitely catches some knowing looks when Allison squeals with laughter after he jokingly pushes her sandwich into her mouth to shut her up talking about something. He stops correcting them after a while, though he's a little worried that this would push any actual potential girlfriends away, but then he remembers that it's pretty unlikely that anyone would be interested in the first place.

*

Eventually one day she sits beside him in the lunch hall instead of opposite him, and he can smell the by-now familiar scent of her perfume as she leans into him and stares down the pack at the other end of the hall. Hey, it isn't Stiles' fault that they're always there when he comes to eat lunch. He just likes this seat. It's a good view of the room.

"Okay. Tell me why you're always staring at them."

Stiles looks at her, eyebrows raised, but she doesn't look judgemental, only interested. He shrugs, grins cheekily. "I like to try to guess what they're dealing with this week. Last week it was..." He thinks back. "Uh, pixies."

Allison giggles into her bottle of water. "Pixies?"

"Oh - yeah. Nasty, they're real little bastards." He clears his throat, knowing the pack can probably hear them, if they're bothered enough to listen any more, but he doesn't think he cares really. "This week I'm thinking... Maybe vampires?"

"Are those even real?" She whispers, and he grins.

"Prob'ly not."

She leans back, studying the group. "I think you're right. Definitely vampires. They look like they suck today." He chokes on his milk, and she pats him on the back with a laugh.

"I think I'd like to meet an elf, if they're real."

He looks at her, still trying to recover from his drowning. "You know, you do look a little like an elf."

She smiles, and it's pretty dazzling. "You think I look like an elf?"

"Yeah, you have very... Elfin features. You know, like Dobby, like a house elf." She thumps him on the arm, and he rubs it absently with a smirk.

"What about you, what would you meet if you could?" She sits forward again, and he shrugs.

"I would meet... I would meet the Vegetable Lamb of Tartary."

"What?" Stiles sits back as Allison looks at him like she's not sure she heard him right.

"It's like a lamb, that grows like a plant - just, it's amazing what you can find on wikipedia at 4AM. Trust me, it's like-" he waves a hand, "Goldmine."

"That's not real." She stabs at her salad with a fork, smiling.

"Hey, the Vegetable Lamb has just as much potential to exist as vampires, okay? Just because it doesn't look as sexy in leather, doesn't mean no one's ever gonna make a series called _True Baaaa_..." He waits for her to stop laughing before he continues. "Fine. Batman, I would meet Batman."

"Nuh-uh. We're talking mythical creatures." She waves the fork at him menacingly.

"Batman is a mythical creature!" He protests, smiling. " _'I am vengeance... I am the night-'_ "

She stops him before he can get really start with his Christian Bale impression, which is frankly a little insulting. She's heard it before though, so he can forgive her.

"You wanna come over to my place tonight? I just got that new Leo Di Caprio movie, we can watch it."

He loses his smile, but tries to play it off. "I should really be getting straight back home, you know, I don't know how far I'm allowed to push this thing with my Dad. Maybe another time."

"Stiles-" She's onto him. Crap. "My dad won't even be home, he's working late. Just five minutes, okay, then I can pick up some clothes and stay over at your place tonight. You can give me a ride in to school tomorrow, right?"

He thinks about it, but there's no point in deliberately avoiding the topic any more with her. "Five minutes?"

"Five minutes." She says reassuringly, and he agrees, reluctantly.

*

Five minutes predictably turns into a little more like fifteen by the time Allison finally gets an overnight bag packed. Stiles is hanging awkwardly around the bottom of the Argent household's staircase, calling up to her and idly poking around the ginormous hallway when he turns around and Chris Argent is in the doorway to the kitchen. He almost knocks some potted plant over in his surprise, but catches it in time, thankfully.

"Stiles."

The hunter tilts his coffee mug at him in greeting, and Stiles is surprised at how angry the guy still makes him. He bites down on all the things he wants to call him in return, because it probably wouldn't go down so well now that he and Allison are actually good friends, and grimly turns to grip the bannister of the stairs.

"Mr. Argent."

"Would you like a drink while you're waiting? A snack?"

Stiles grits his teeth and doesn't look at him, because the guy doesn't seem to ever get flustered. "No thanks. _Allison!_ "

"I'm coming!" She yells back, sounding equally frustrated, and he doesn't turn around because he can almost feel Chris' genial smile behind him.

"How was school?"

Stiles finally turns to him, wide-eyed, and _this_ is when Allison finally appears, crossing the balcony above them and looking down.

"Sorry, I was looking for this sweater..." She stops as she sees the scene, but at least superficially seems to be on Stiles' side. "Dad... What are you doing here? I thought you weren't going to be home until late."

Chris drains the last of the coffee in his mug. "Came home early. I thought we could do something together, but it's okay. I should have called you first. Are you two going to watch a movie?"

"I'm gonna go wait in the car." Stiles says abruptly, not really sure why because now he's drawn attention to himself again. Allison starts down the stairs.

"Stiles, wait-"

"Stiles, I wasn't trying to hurt you."

It's such a stupid start to this argument that Stiles almost laughs. "Really? So telling my Dad his son was hanging around with a former fugitive with a history of sexual abuse was supposed to, to what - to get his blessing?"

Allison hovers halfway down the stairs, nervously, and the coffee mug has disappeared from Chris' hands.

"You're sixteen years old, Stiles. I know better than anyone that you shouldn't be involved in this kind of thing if you have the choice."

"But it was _my choice_!" The words practically explode out of Stiles and echo around the hall, and he thinks throwing things might be a bit over the top but so help him if that potted plant comes anywhere near him then it's gettin' tossed. "I had a place there! I had friends, and- I could _help_ them, and it wasn't your call to make!"

"I'm not the one who made the call." Chris says quietly.

"Wait-... Wait, what?" It's Allison who whispers, moving down the stairs slowly to stop beside Stiles. "Dad... Dad, tell me you didn't."

Stiles isn't sure what she's figured out that he hasn't, but then something slots into place, and he's pretty sure the ground just dropped out from under him.

Because _all paths lead to Derek._

Chris at least has the good grace to look deeply uncomfortable. "Derek asked me to talk to your father. He told me that it was for your own protection, Stiles, and he promised me that if I helped him then he would do everything he could to keep Allison out of everything-"

"Dad!" Standing beside Stiles Allison is outraged, and he remembers her vendetta against Derek and doesn't blame her one bit. For the current outrage, not really for the holy crusade, that one's still sort of a sore spot for the both of them.

"No, Allison. That one was my choice, and I don't regret doing it. I _never_ wanted you involved in this in the first place, especially not so young."

"It wasn't Derek's place either!" Stiles protests, though it's a little lacklustre because he knows it's pretty thin. Derek probably has every right to kick him out of his own pack. But to turn his _friends_ against him?

"It's done, Stiles. You'll make new friends, and you won't have to fear for your life all the time. Isn't that what you wanted?"

The way Chris' eyes are burning into him now suggests that he knows exactly what Stiles has thought about, like there's some story behind the hunter's actions, some troubled childhood to rival any of their own and Stiles remembers that he grew up with Gerard as a father. But that would make he and Stiles too similar for comfort, so Stiles rejects it outright.

"I have to go."

"If you go back there it won't stop, Stiles."

Allison grips onto his sleeve when he turns to the front door, and he looks at her. She's not angry with him, or pleading, just wary, and he casts one more glance back to Chris before squeezing her hand gently and leaving. From outside he can hear Allison yelling, getting furious with her father as he tries to justify himself calmly in that way all adults can.

He swings himself agilely into the Jeep, and drives straight to the road through the Preserve. It's still familiar even after the time that's passed, though it's closer to winter now and the trees are bare, a dreary carpet of dead leaves underfoot as the Jeep bounces across the forest floor and rolls to a stop in front of the Hale house.

They're all there, God. It looks like he's interrupted some training thing, because Scott's managed to lose his shirt and he and Erica are covered in a light sheen of sweat. Isaac and Boyd look tired out, and Derek's in one of those stupid wifebeater vests he loves more than life itself, which is frankly ridiculous because don't any of them feel the cold? Stiles is only in his red hoodie over some purple plaid button-down and even that makes him feel overdressed. But it's okay, because Peter's still fully dressed (thank God) and lurking on the porch.

Stiles jumps out of the car, and lands with a crunch on the leaves. They're all silent, and clearly they knew he was coming, probably from miles away. Seeing them together makes him so mad suddenly he can't think straight, which definitely shouldn't be the angle he comes at this from, but it's better than crying and begging them to be allowed to be their friend.

Though it's an option he's tempted to consider.

Erica makes a move to turn away, and Stiles throws up his hands.

"Well, you might as well stay, you'll hear everything anyway."

She doesn't even answer him - Erica! She doesn't even talk to him! - just looks at Derek, who nods his head, and Stiles thinks _well, at least I got his permission to embarrass myself in front of everyone._

"Can somebody, and I mean anybody, at this point-" he directs a pointed comment to Peter, who at least doesn't seem to be revelling in the situation as much as Stiles thought he would be, "Please, just tell me what the hell is going on? Because I thought that we were actually finally working pretty great together as a team, you know, finally after all this time, and then suddenly Stiles is out of the werewolf club and - I don't even know what happened. Is it because I'm human? Can't be that, because Lydia's still in with you guys, right?"

He takes another glance around, but Lydia's not here, and something dimly tells him that he doesn't think she's ever sat with them at lunch either, but it probably isn't that important.

"Stiles- your Dad, we don't want you to get in trouble-" Scott starts, and Stiles laughs.

"Scott, I love you, buddy, but that is BS, alright? Because first-" he holds up a finger, "No way would that have stopped you before, and second, I talked to Chris Argent, okay? The _whole thing_ was manufactured by our not-so-friendly resident Alpha, and don't tell me that he's not the one making you pretend like I don't exist. I just wanna know why."

Derek shifts at that, rolls his eyes like he was regretting involving the hunter or not at least inventing some kind of secrecy-death clause, and Stiles glares at him.

"I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? Look, you can't tell me that I didn't do something for you guys, right? Remember the mountain ash? All the research? You know? We had a good thing going." Not one of them agrees verbally, though they all seem varying levels of conflicted, which Stiles is definitely going to take as a win considering that he's actually had a lot of practice translating werewolf emotions.

But it's the fact that still none of them are talking to him and they _all_ seem to be deferring to Derek, including Scott, that really grates on Stiles' nerves. The guy's just watching him like he's waiting for Stiles to get bored, or like _he's_ bored. Guess he won't mind if Stiles makes it more interesting, then.

"What - did you just get the uncontrollable urge to ruin everything? That's what you do, right Derek? If you can't be happy, no one else should be, that's how it is."

Stiles can't stop himself from talking after he starts, even if he doesn't know why he's saying it, he just wants to _hurt_ , he wants to hurt Derek as much as he's hurting right now, has been for weeks. Derek's a big strong Alpha, he can take it.

Scott actually moves towards Derek and almost reaches out, and Stiles almost tells him that Derek isn't really a physical contact kind of guy before he remembers that he doesn't care, and _Scott_ is trying to comfort _Derek_. That's when Stiles figures out that either he's really lost it or someone's stepped on a butterfly (more like a freakin' whale) in the past, because something must have gone terribly wrong with this timeline and he would like the world where Scott and Derek do not see eye to eye on kicking him out of the pack back, please.

But then he realises that Scott and the other wolves might just be picking up something that human Stiles can't, because Scott isn't actually touching Derek and the betas are suddenly a whole lot more tense than they were before. Though Derek doesn't seem to have even moved, still staring at Stiles as though he's given up on the conversation entirely. Like he's given up on Stiles.

Stiles heart is pounding, and he hasn't been this afraid of a Hale since he was begging for Lydia's life in the middle of a frozen lacrosse field.

He's so sick of doing all the talking, and finally he bursts out with the thing that's preyed most heavily on his mind, regardless of the company.

"We had _sex_ , Derek! And it actually wasn't bad - you know, I might even go further and say, yeah, it was pretty good!" The three betas look at each other and Stiles isn't sure how much they knew, but Scott's head snaps around to stare at Stiles and he regrets breaking it to the guy quite like this.

"And not even one time, so you can't blame this whole thing on a mistake just to throw me under the bus."

"Actually it was a mistake, Stiles. A big one."

Stiles hasn't heard Derek speak in over a month, and he didn't realise until now how much he missed it, even though what he's saying is kind of stabbing at his heart.

"Hey!" Scott's near enough to shove hard at Derek's shoulder, which is a little adorable.

"Hey, thanks for trying to defend my virtue and all, Scott, but you're a little late on that one, alright?"

Scott makes a move towards him and Stiles thinks maybe, finally, he's gotten through, but Derek grabs at Scott's arm and tugs him off balance to whisper something. Stiles stands as still as he can and tilts his ear towards them, not for the first time wishing for the same werewolf super hearing as everyone else in the clearing and probably not for the last. Born and bred werewolf aside, though, Derek has no problems judging just how low he needs to speak to make sure that Stiles can't hear a word of what he mutters.

Scott shrugs him off and gives Derek a glare of such hatred that hope blooms in Stiles' chest, like maybe the pack isn't quite as happy families as they're pretending to be, which is a pretty terrible thing to hope for but he just feels like being a little selfish right now. But then Scott nods at Derek, and the hope dies as quickly as it flared, leaving him feeling emptier than before.

Scott moves closer until he's standing right by Stiles, and Stiles looks at his hand where he's fiddling with the keys to his Jeep before actually looking up to him.

"Stiles, you... You can't be here. Just... Not now."

Stiles narrows his eyes, because _not now? What does that even mean?_ "Is that, like, 'try again later Stiles', or is that 'not now' like... Not after something's happened? Did something major happen? Did I miss it?" Scott doesn't reply. "Oh my God, did I _cause_ it?"

"No, Stiles! It isn't anything you've done, don't blame yourself."

Stiles actually snorts and throws his hands up in frustration. Someone might have tried mentioning that one a month ago. Scott looks at Derek like he's debating asking something, and clearly decides fuck it anyway.

"You trust me?"

Stiles can hear the smile in his friend's voice even before he looks at him, sees Scott looking at him with those big puppy-dog eyes and the lopsided grin that used to be able to get him to do almost anything for the guy, and still finds himself snapping, "Why? You gonna," he throws his arms wide with a sarcastic grin of his own, "use it against me?"

Scott looks a little ashamed, which immediately - dammit - makes Stiles feel guilty, and he rubs at his eye tiredly. "Look, Scott, I'm sorry."

He's not sure why he's the one apologising, but somehow it always happens.

"I just can't figure out- What did I do that's so," he scrabbles for a word, "...heinous that nobody will even _talk_ to me? Can you just tell me? How do I fix it?"

"There's nothing to fix! Stiles, can you please just trust me on this?" Scott looks pleading now, which really Stiles wants to laugh at, because - when has he ever done anything else for the guy?

"What is there to trust, Scott?"

Scott looks stricken, and Stiles thinks about rewinding because that didn't come out the way he meant it to. Except maybe it did. He can't get a grip on the situation enough right now to comprehend whatever Scott thinks he just said.

"I didn't... Not-..." He stutters, scratching at an eyebrow with his thumb before looking to Derek, and Derek isn't even _looking_ at him. He just tilts his head in Stiles' direction as though he's expecting Stiles to attack him again.

Somewhere there's a really special level of hell, and Stiles is heading straight for it. That's providing, of course, that he's not already there. He never knew it was physically possible to feel this overwhelmingly shitty.

A glance around tells him that the rest of the pack is watching him, though, so he ducks his head and stares at the floor with his fists tightly clenched. He wants to defend himself, he wants one of them to say something for once, he wants some actual freaking _answers_ \- but the thought occurs that maybe he already has them.

He stares back at Derek and clenches his teeth together hard, and now Derek looks at him, coolly.

"You done?"

That's a loaded question if Stiles has ever heard one. He meets Derek's gaze just as levelly, trying to inject as much meaning as he can into words as devoid of emotion as possible.

"Guess I am."

His gaze switches to Scott, still beside him. Neither of them makes any movement towards Stiles as he shakes his head like he's exasperated, or he's given up trying, or he's lost control of the conversation, any of which could be true.

He turns on his heel and stomps back to the Jeep, tripping over a stick or something on the ground, like a really big fucking stick, because that is _exactly_ what this situation needs. It's really the cherry on top of the 'Stiles, you're making a real embarrassment of yourself' cake that is the last half hour, which would probably taste like the one time he tried making brownies and used rock salt instead of regular salt so they ended up tasting like the seaside.

He hears leaves shifting like someone took a step to help him but he doesn't want to look back and see because he doesn't want it to be the wrong person, even though there can't really be a wrong person at this point. He only stumbles anyway, doesn't fall, so he can be grateful for that.

"Thank you for looking after Allison." Scott says from behind Stiles as he clambers into the Jeep and wonders if it's not the other way around, because she actually could bizarrely be the more emotionally steady one right now.

He slams the door and puts his hands on the steering wheel, trying to tell himself to be responsible and not start driving until his hands have stopped shaking. He flexes them, grips hard, and starts the ignition anyway.

He can feel the eyes of the pack on him as he backs out of the clearing, feel their pity, and in that moment he thinks he honestly and truly _hates_ them. He doesn't need their pity and he certainly doesn't want it.

He knew that it was a mistake to do it in front of them but he really thought they might be on his side and instead they're just _sorry_ for him, the idiot Stiles who convinced himself he could be a part of their little werewolf gang even without the secret passcode.

It was a mistake doing it at all. Before, at least, there was the fragile hope buried somewhere in the back of his mind, that the whole thing was a misunderstanding, just a temporary (stupid) idea that would blow over once they realised how useful he was, once Scott finally remembered who he used to have sleepovers and get hyperactive after too much Halloween candy with. Once Derek figured out that who he was wholly and completely in love with, but that one might be more wishful thinking than actual physical evidence, of which right now there is zero.

He's nearly back to town and the road winds and wraps around itself, so he doesn't know if he's still in their hearing range or if they even have an actual definitive range when it registers that Stiles Stilinski just told Scott McCall that he doesn't trust him anymore. He stops the Jeep, slides messily to the ground, bends double and dry-heaves at the side of the road.

*

It's still early but already dark when he pulls up in the driveway of his home, but when he gets the Jeep into the garage he can see the kitchen light on and he almost wants to cry with frustration. He doesn't want to deal with his father right now, can't handle the questions about where he's been or the disappointed acceptance when the sheriff knows that he's lying about it and wants Stiles to know that he knows.

He goes in anyway, and it isn't his father waiting at the kitchen table for him but Allison, and she actually seems worried about him so he doesn't even want to think about what he looks like right now.

"Your dad's working a night shift." She tells him helpfully after he lingers in the doorway for a while, and he nods silently in thanks.

She doesn't ask because she doesn't need to. The chair scrapes against the floor as she stands up and before Stiles can properly figure out what the etiquette is for hugging your best... _ex_ -best friend's ex-girlfriend, her arms are around him, squeezing, and he hesitates only for a second before he wraps his own tightly around her waist, because whatever she was, she's his friend now. Her gently curled hair is in his face and getting up his nose but he closes his eyes and buries his head in her shoulder instead, the sensation more comforting than annoying.

They stand together in the doorway for several minutes, and she rubs a light and repetitive pattern onto his back with her thumb. Eventually she speaks, her voice soft and teasing in his ear.

"You know, if we were in a movie, this is usually the part where we would get drunk and confess our undying love for each other."

He surprises himself by pulling away and looking at her, before eyeing the cabinet where his father keeps his alcohol.

"We could... probably actually do that? I mean, without the undying love part, no offence. It's not you, it's me."

Stiles squints questioningly, and Allison's smiling eyes drift downwards as she thinks about it. Then they snap back to his face, and she grins widely.

*

"I had... I had a plan when we first moved to here. I did. And it was a _great_ plan. It involved no boyfriends, at all, and there were no werewolves in it. At all."

Some of her hair falls over his face, and Stiles makes a pathetic attempt to spit it out of his mouth before realising that that's his tongue. Oh my God, is that what his tongue feels like?

"That was... a terrible miscalculation on your part. But it's not your fault, nobody can resist Scott. I think he's actually secretly a - a hypnotiser... It's the eyes."

Allison rolls over to lie on her back on his bed, her head hanging slightly off one side and her legs off the other. Stiles is slouching on the floor with his legs drawn up, leaning against the bed next to her head, and the half-empty whiskey bottle is dangling from her fingertips close to the floor beside him.

"Oh my God, it is! It has to be the eyes. Because, I met him, and it was like I couldn't breathe sometimes, you know?" He glances to his right and her upside-down eyes are right there, blinking at him imploringly. "He was just different. Really different. Just so..."

"Different." Stiles echoes, before wrestling the bottle away and taking another swallow.

"Yes! And Lydia told me that it was just my brain flooding with amph... Phenyl..." She scrunches up her face, trying to remember through the haze of alcohol. "Methamphetamine? That can't be right."

"Methamph-" He can't even finish before he bursts out laughing, because Allison is freakin' _hilarious_ , and she starts giggling too. He tilts his head back to laugh and she moves sideways and somehow they bump heads, which just makes them laugh harder.

She stops laughing after half a minute, with a little sigh. "Wait wait, wait... What were... What were we laughing about?"

He thinks back.

"Mmmaybe we have a concussion."

That sets her off again and he laughs too but only after a few seconds, because he was pretty sure he was being serious and head injuries are really bad, but if she's laughing she probably doesn't have one so he mustn't either.

"You know... You know way back? Like on your first day? He was actually spying on your conversation. That's how he knew you needed to borrow that pen." He should probably feel a little bad for ratting Scott out after all this time, but he's pretty sure that there's a lot he's going to regret in the morning and this will be the least of it.

She goes quiet to take a second to remember what he's talking about and he's worried he's freaked her out, but eventually he hears a peal of laughter from the bed.

"Are you serious? He heard me talking to my mom? I was like, a mile away from that classroom! I thought he was just being really nice!"

Stiles chuckles, fiddling with the cap of the bottle. "Oh no, Scott McCall uses his super werewolf powers for evil."

He lips turn down in a pout. "I'm not evil."

"You're- You are a little evil." He announces, and she frowns now, turning her head to look at his ceiling.

"Temporarily insane, maybe."

She goes quiet then, and Stiles doesn't like it, wants to go back to the laughing, because he likes avoiding major topics. He's good at that.

"Stiles... Does it ever get easier?"

The question is soft, but stunningly loud in the silence. He rests his head back against his bed and tilts it towards her.

"What, you mean getting kicked out of the pack?" He gives a half-hearted shrug. "At this point I'm not sure I was ever actually in it in the first place."

"No... But, I think about my mom, _all_ the time."

She sounds like she's close to tears already, which is pretty tragic because Stiles was really hoping she was the more emotionally stable one out of the two of them, but clearly she was just better at hiding it than he was. It isn't all that hard to be, he really is _terrible_ at hiding it.

He thinks about it for a while.

"Like, every day." She adds helpfully.

"Not really." He says, truthfully, because seriously in his life so far there's been nothing but one crisis after another for like past, like, nine years. The supernatural element is just a recent addition. He sniffs. "But it kinda gets less hard."

She purses her lips and breathes steadily for a few seconds, and then looks at him. "How's that different?"

"It's... Erm. It just is."

"Okay." She lies her head back again, and he can't help but feel surprised still that she just trusts him so freely. He could probably survive if Allison stuck around, he thinks. Hey, maybe she can teach him how to shoot a bow and arrow now so he can live out some Hawkeye fantasy. That would be fun.

"Tell me about the pack." She says, quietly enough that he almost misses it.

He looks at her in surprise, and then stares at the wall, not really sure where to start. "Umm... Uh. Shhwww... We-ell... Uhhh, I guess, it's a little hard to describe. I don't even get half of what goes on in their little wolfy heads sometimes. Case in point... Well, me."

"Never mind." Allison says suddenly, and starts to roll over onto her front, but he reaches up and grabs her arm to stop her.

"Wait."

She looks at him, eyes hooded in the dark bedroom, the streetlamp outside the only thing alight through the still-open blinds, and then nods slowly and flops back down. He gives her the whiskey bottle to guard, and she clutches it tightly after taking another gulp.

He starts talking about the pack. Things he's noticed about them, traits he's pretty sure come from actual wolves. Parts of Scott-and-Stiles' side of events when there still was a Scott-and-Stiles. Even about the fact that Derek actually has a crappy apartment in a crappier part of town, though he doesn't mention where just in case she gets any ideas, that Stiles found the address of when he maybe sorta looked at Derek's arrest report one time. He tells her how Scott decided after the whole warehouse thing before summer that at least co-operating with Derek probably wouldn't kill him - well, not directly. He says that they didn't even know Erica and Boyd were missing until they reappeared with some vague murmurs of an alpha pack - to Derek at least, because Scott and Stiles were way too busy trying to make the most of summer.

There may have been some slight pressuring on Stiles' part to get Scott to forget about Derek's pack completely for a little while, and maybe that was the reason for all of this. Was Stiles a terrible person? It's not like he wanted them to get hurt or anything, but Derek could totally handle it by himself. It hadn't been until summer was winding down that they'd started to get involved in the Beacon Hills Supernatural Mystery Caravan of Horrors again.

Stiles is in the middle of an explanation about the time he heroically karate-kicked some rabid omega in the leg which allowed Derek to get close enough to take her down, and selectively skims the part where it was an accident and he sort of fell over and got covered in dirt and leaves and blood, when Allison interrupts.

"Why do you talk about Derek so much?"

"I- what?" Stiles stops in the middle of his epic musing about how the woman had blue eyes instead of yellow and he's still not really sure what that means. "I don't. I mean, I talk about him the same... as everyone. All of the other people."

Allison rolls onto her front and rests her chin on her hands, looking at the back of his head. He twists so he's at least half-turned towards her.

"You mention him at least twice as much as everyone else. More than Scott. Do you like him?"

For all her resentment towards Derek she looks surprisingly non-judgemental about it, and it's a simple enough question. She doesn't know the pandora's box she's unleashing, though. Stiles makes a grab for the bottle.

"I'm not drunk enough for this."

She smirks but allows him to snatch it and throw some back, wincing as it burns its way down his throat.

"Okay, you promise you won't laugh?" His voice is thick with alcohol.

"Why would I laugh?"

She's already laughing. "You're already laughing!"

"I'm not laughing! I won't laugh, okay, I promise, I'm totally fine."

"Um... Me and Derek were kind of sleeping together?" He's not sure why he phrases it as a question, and her eyes crinkle up in amusement as she buries her face in her hands to giggle. He makes a grab for his pillow and tries to push it at her face until she pulls it away.

"I'm sorry! I'm not laughing, I'm only laughing 'cause you told me not to laugh."

"You just said you weren't laughing, and that is a flagrant disregard for the truth, Miss Argent."

She tucks the pillow under her hands and continues to watch him. "Okay, okay. I'm not laughing anymore, I swear. Don't take this in any way but, like, really really _nice_ , but... How does that even happen?"

"Thanks. Thank you for being my friend, Allison." He's not really mad - hell he's had the same thoughts a hundred times over - and she isn't deterred.

"You know what I mean! He doesn't seem the type, you know, he's just so- I think even his issues have issues. I just can't imagine him actually wanting to do anything. And you're... Stiles." She wrinkles up her nose, and Stiles is reminded again of her history with Derek. If she's actually willing to talk about him just for Stiles, maybe he could try a little harder too. So he sighs.

"Okay, so remember this omega woman, person? It was right after that, and Scott takes Isaac back to the depot or the house or wherever to heal. And Derek kind of turns to me, and he's like," Stiles considers trying to do an impression of Derek and thinks the better of it. Then he decides he actually really wants to, and he puffs out his chest to imitate muscles and tries to make his voice as deep as he can. "'Stiles, I need to make sure you're not hurt', because I'm still covered in all this blood and it was gross, by the way. And then he pushes me up against this tree and his hands were _everywhere_ , like he was some kind of werewolf octopus-"

Her laughter stops him again. "That is _not_ what happened!"

"It's how I choose to remember it and you will not convince me otherwise."

In reality it was more of Stiles embarrassing himself, which was hardly news. Objectively, of course, it was always pretty clear that Derek Hale was hot. That wasn't even debateable. But it wasn't until he'd spent more time with him while neither of them were being actively threatened and Derek dropped his Batman-esque 'everything I touch is tragic and ill-fated' front, that Stiles had actually started to properly consider him as more than just that guy that kept getting them in trouble.

But not just about him - about the way he acted. About the smirks Stiles would sometimes barely catch to his stupid jokes, or the way he could see him from the corner of his eye sometimes, just watching Stiles. And then Stiles being Stiles, he'd overanalysed the situation for weeks trying to figure it out.

Derek _had_ checked him for injuries, but it was a lot more awkward than handsy, until Stiles had finally stopped making jokes about them being close enough to make out and practically thrown himself forward. There were a few seconds of terrifying stillness where Stiles was pretty convinced he was about to be killed in a really bloody and violent manner but then Derek had actually reciprocated, and Stiles just felt _warm_ , all over.

He doesn't really want to tell anyone this though, even Allison though she's so cool, so tries to change the subject.

"What would a werewolf octopus be like? What if, you turned into an octopus whenever you touched water, like, like a weretopus. Octowere. That would probably be really hard to keep a secret at the beach-"

"But you said sleeping together. Like, more than once?" She's still surveying him, intrigued, tangling her legs together.

"Uh, yeah. I think it was like an adrenaline thing, because it kinda happened after we fought, like, hunters and other wolves and things, and pretty much any time our lives were in danger. But then he started calling me sometimes, and he'd say it was for help with looking for information or something but I figured out it was only when he felt really bad. Peter isn't exactly a source of great comfort." Stiles pulls a face. "He does - he does have some issues. But so do you," he points an accusing and lightly wavering finger at her. "And so does me. I. So does I."

He hesitates, and she looks at him sympathetically.

"It was only recent, just after summer, but I guess I thought it might actually really mean... I don't know, something. And then he just - he just kicks me out, like it was nothing to'm. Go figure. Guess my Dad was actually right."

He's lost track of the whiskey bottle but spies it again, a foot away, and drinks way too much of it. Allison prises it away from him and drinks some more too, and he's glad at least that he's not alone in his drunken wallowing.

"What about Lydia, though?"

"What about her?"

Allison's lips twist as she shrugs. "Do you still love her?"

"I don't... I don't know. I don't even know if I ever did. I think. I do. I still love her." He says confidently, and then remembers that they've barely even talked recently. " _Loved._ Never mind. Hey, have you - have you noticed how she doesn't even sit with the rest of them at lunch? What's up with _that_?"

Her face darkens, and she sits up and crosses her legs, shorts hitching and showing them off. "I guess. I don't know."

"What-" He shifts around until he can face her properly. "Haven't you talked to her? I thought you guys still hung out."

"No, we do, we, um, we just..." Her bravado falls away and she sighs. "Okay, fine! She hasn't _talked_ to me since the beginning of summer. She and Jackson were always 'doing things', and I figured out that I should just stop asking... I think she's still mad at me for not telling her anything. But just because Jackson gets turned into a giant lizard, suddenly it's all 'me and Jackson need to spend some time together' and never mind that Jackson never said anything either. It's like I'm the new girl all over again. Sucks."

She's scowling, and Stiles isn't really sure what the protocol is in this situation so he pulls himself unsteadily to sink onto the bed, and hugs her. She stiffens, and he pats her awkwardly on the back, so she leans into him but they're twisted around so it's a little uncomfortable for both of them.

She looks pleased enough when he eventually pulls away anyway, and he smiles back, happy that he's at least a little way into understanding girls.

He sits back and forgets that he's sitting next to the end of the bed where there's nothing to lean against. Allison slowly tips out of view, as he falls back further than he meant to. His arms start windmilling to frantically keep his balance and her hand shoots out reflexively to grab a fistful of his t-shirt, but his butt is already sliding down and pulling half the duvet with him so all it accomplishes is that he falls hard onto the floor and Allison lands on his chest. He groans, but he's laughing too, and she rolls off him onto her back, in fits.

"Ow... Oh my God... I am... in so much pain, right now." He says through his laughter, and she giggles harder, and he assumes she's trying to pat his shoulder but her hand is all over his face.

There's no way he's getting up again right away, so instead he rolls himself to his front so he can sit up against the end of the bed, like a turtle. She follows suit and slumps beside him, head on his shoulder.

There's a few minutes of silence before Stiles declares, "Werewolves suck."

"They do." Allison nods sagely. "But Lydia isn't a werewolf."

"She almost was." He reminds her. "Although if you tell her I said anything she might literally kill me, so it would be nice if that was just between us."

Allison looks furtively around the room, and Stiles joins her, not really sure what they're looking for. She tugs his shoulder down and he feels her breath brush his ear.

"What if they can hear us right now?"

The thought is a little absurd because they've made it pretty clear exactly how much they care about old Stiles, but he nods grimly all the same.

"Hey, what if they're like the mob, you know? What if it's like, once you're in the supernatural club, you can't leave? They could be trying to kill me _right now_." He spins around with some effort until he's crouched behind the end of the bed, staring at the window that opens out onto the street as though someone could climb through any moment. Which they totally could.

"You mean us. Why wouldn't they kill me?" Allison mirrors his position, throwing an arm up onto the messed-up bed to keep herself kneeling steadily.

"Nah... If they tried anything, your dad would kill them."

"Yeah. _My Dad._ "

Stiles was trying to be reassuring, but she just sits back down heavily, scathingly. He doesn't really know what to say because clearly she didn't make any progress with him after he left, but he sees a notepad on his desk and instead gets an idea. When he eventually can stagger to his feet, he gets a marker pen out from his pencil case and starts writing. Very very carefully, because there's a possibility the drink might maybe be having a little bit of an effect on him.

Allison's watching as he turns around, holding it up proudly. "Ta-da!"

"'No Werewolves Allowed.'" There's a pause. "'Or any hunters either.'"

She gets to the end and claps to show her approval. He tears the page off and looks around.

"I'll put it on the window."

"But wait - what if your dad sees it?" She makes a wobbly effort to stand up to help him as he searches for the tape.

"Oh yeah... Okay... I'll put it..." He thinks really, really hard. "On the outside of the window."

Stiles grins as Allison laughs because he really likes that sound, and rips off some tape after a lengthy battle with the sticky side. His dad probably won't notice anyway, or at least wouldn't understand the significance. He sits on the windowsill and Allison fists his shirt tightly in her hands to make sure he doesn't fall, which he appreciates even though it isn't very likely because he is actually surprisingly graceful most of the time-

His hand slips from where it's bracing him against the frame and he panics with a completely justified flail, and hooks an arm around Allison's waist. She uses his shirt to pull him back in slightly, a teasing grin on her face.

"It's okay, I've got you! Just - grab the frame next time or you'll pull me out too."

He nods, a little red (from the effort, absolutely not from the panic), gasps out an "Okay," and leans out to try again, reaching an arm around and slapping the sign against the windowpane.

"Yes!" He throws his hands up triumphantly, forgetting that the other hand had been holding the wooden frame in a deathgrip. He wobbles unsteadily but then Allison is hauling him back in, scraping him carelessly against the edge, and they fall in a giggling heap on the floor.

She's somehow managed to land on top of him _again_ , and she cackles into the crook of his neck when he stops laughing breathlessly for long enough to complain about it.

"Am I seriously that squashable? You better not make a habit of this." He shakes his head, grinning, and she props her head up and tucks her hair behind her ear.

The streetlamp is directly opposite the open window, which keeps the room lit well enough that he can see Allison's face above him in the dark, haloed by a ring of yellow. His own face is half-hidden in her shadow, her hair brushing the ground beside his ear, and he can see her studying him with a bite of her lip. She sits up, and he props himself up on his elbows, and she leans forward again and they're kissing.

It's nothing, really, just a drunken press of scrunched up lips, and he becomes vaguely aware after a while that her nose is kind of pushing hard into his cheekbone, which is a little weird and not very romantic so he pulls away.

"Um..."

He blinks, because wait, _what did they just do?_ and she settles back, with a nervous laugh, touching her fingers to her lips. Her really very pretty lips.

He's not really sure where that thought came from. Obviously he thinks Allison's gorgeous. Not in the same way as he thinks Lydia's gorgeous, or Derek. Because Allison is like a sister to him, and Allison is Scott's.

Except she isn't, not any more, and neither is he.

He sits up properly and she ducks her head down to him and they're kissing again.

She's nothing like the way Derek kissed - Derek was rough, and urgent, and earthy. Allison's lips are soft, and warm, and she tastes sweet like cherries and bitter like whiskey at the same time. It's a little sloppy which is probably just because they're both a little - or a lot - drunk, but his hands are tangled in her hair and on the back of her neck and he's massaging slightly, which is a little trick he learned with Derek that Allison seems to _love_ , breaking away from his mouth to gasp against his neck. She gets to her feet and takes his hand to haul him up with her, and he marvels for a second at how strong she is but then they're both stumbling towards the bed.

He knows hazily he shouldn't be doing this for so, so many reasons but Allison is tugging off his shirt and he can't think of any of them suddenly, and he's trying really hard to focus on what his limbs are doing so he doesn't accidentally knee her or give himself a black eye or anything that might just be hugely embarrassing for them both, so he can't spend too much time thinking about anything else right now.

She lifts up her arms and he pulls her shirt over her head and drops it to the floor.

Maybe she's not that much like a sister.

Stiles sits on the bed and she straddles him, sitting in his lap and kissing a path down his bare chest. He can feel her hands at the zipper of his jeans and he reaches to grab them, stilling her.

"What is it?" She hesitates. "Is this a really stupid idea? It is, isn't it, oh God, it's so stupid, this is my fault-"

"No, no wait, I just... Hold on."

He lies back and his fingers scrabble for a box that he keeps under his bed, that usually goes unnoticed in the mess. He digs through it blindly and finally sits up, holding up a condom. The package looks a little torn on one side, he dimly registers, probably just Derek in a hurry.

Allison leans gently against him, a warm pressure against his front, arms crossed self-consciously over her chest.

He waits for a few seconds, looking from the condom to her.

"You... You wanna keep going?"

She lowers her head and curves away from him, and he thinks she's decided against the whole thing. She's right, absolutely, it is a totally stupid thing to do and there's no way that they should even be allowed in the same room anymore forever but suddenly she hauls herself back up, the whiskey bottle hanging from her fingers. She takes a swig from it and looks at him, grinning a pixie-like grin.

"Definitely."

"Jesus." He breathes, and he's seriously in danger of just coming in his pants right now because that might be the single hottest thing a girl's ever done for him. _I see what Scott sees in you,_ he almost says, before he realises that it's probably the quickest way to being kicked out of his own bed.

Allison leans forward and clumsily mashes her lips against Stiles' again, this time succeeding in tugging his jeans halfway down his hips along with his boxers. He wants to do the same to her but somehow it still feels a little weird, so he lets her take that one and instead wraps his arms around her to tackle the bra. She enthusiastically unbuttons her shorts anyway, and starts to slide down his body towards his dick.

Stiles keeps a hold on her hand and tugs her back up, because much as he appreciates the thought (and he really, oh God _really_ appreciates it) he would much rather she was up here and didn't leave him alone with his thoughts, because that would go very wrong very fast.

She seems to know what he's thinking, because she takes the condom and rips it open (with her _teeth_ , and it's so different from how Derek does it, her tongue sliding seductively over the wrapper, and he's... He's definitely not thinking about Derek anymore). He makes what is probably a pretty unattractive groaning noise and then pushes both of them further onto the small bed so they don't fall off, inavertently grinding up against her in the process. She leans down and reciprocates, and he feels her teeth against his neck, which is clearly a kink they've both picked up from their respective boyfriends.

He rolls them both over until he's above her and leans down to do the same, and she responds eagerly beneath him, and _Jesus fuck_ -

*

Stiles doesn't even have to look up from his cereal as someone enters the kitchen to know that it's his father, stomping his boots against the mat by the back door.

"Stiles." The sheriff sounds pleased that Stiles is up so early, like it's somehow an indicator that Stiles might be finally taking some responsibility for his life. In reality, the last night is playing inside his head on a loop and he can't stay in his room without pitching a (thoroughly inappropriate and frankly a little weird) tent in his boxers.

He'd woken at six AM and taken one look at Allison, pressed warmly against his side with his arm tucked around her - and the hangover had kicked in at full force. So he'd staggered out of bed as quietly as possible (i.e. not very) trying desperately not to wake her (though it seemed a little redundant, she looked pretty dead to the world), and stumbled blearily downstairs for breakfast therapy.

"Morning, Dad." He affects a dopey grin that he can blame on sleep, because if his father finds out he got completely wasted... well, what could he even do at this point? Aside from just give up entirely.

Stiles watches his father go to the fridge, and helpfully supplies with a wave of the empty carton, "We're out of milk."

His father, already half into the fridge, straightens up with a scowl and reaches for the tap instead. His voice is cautiously casual. "So Allison stayed over last night?"

"Uhh... Yep. Yeah. She's asleep still. On my bed. Which is where she sleeps, when she stays over. While I was on the couch." Belatedly he realises that the sofa would show no signs of him having spent the night on it, but his head is pounding way too hard to allow him anything but sluggish and half-hearted excuses. "Um. Which I tidied."

Smooth, Stilinski. His father's eyes are narrowed.

"Son, you and Allison... I know that she's Scott's ex, and you've told me before, but is there something-"

"We're just friends, Dad." He's said the words so often to so many people it comes out automatically, and his spoon is hovering abandoned in the air dripping milk and fruit loops back into the bowl. "Really, we're just-"

Stiles looks over when he catches movement and Allison is standing sleep-addled and tousle-haired in the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed as though it's only on seeing him that it's hitting her what they did last night. He envies her those few extra minutes of ignorance, truly he does. His eyes dart to his dad, who raises his eyebrows towards him and then looks at her.

"Breakfast, Allison?"

She takes a hesitant step into the kitchen, then realises that it would probably force a conversation neither of them are mentally equipped for this early and this hungover, and clearly decides the better of it as she backs outside the doorway.

"Actually, d'you... mind if I just take a shower? Um, for school, and all."

"Of course-"

There's a clatter as Stiles drops his spoon and it hits the bowl, milk splashing into his face. They both wince at the sound and he wipes at his eyes with his arm to see her fleeing, disappearing upstairs. The sheriff either doesn't notice or is too tired to care, because he makes to follow her, with a world-weary sigh.

"Okay. I gotta hit the sack."

Stiles looks up again from the small puddle of precious milk on the table to his father. "Long night?"

Sheriff Stilinski stops in the doorway, and Stiles notices then how exhausted he looks.

"There's been a couple more animal attacks. It's fine, no _deaths_ , just some very frightened people. A few scratches. There's nothing for you to worry about."

The sheriff's warning tone heavily implies he isn't worrying so much about Stiles being attacked as much as ensuring he doesn't return to his former vigilante ways. No chance of that.

Stiles isn't going to ask. He isn't. Because he definitely doesn't care. So he's not going to ask.

"Did... anybody get bitten?"

He tries to keep his voice light and uninterested, but his father is looking at him suspiciously all the same, though thoughtful.

"No, I don't think so. What for?"

"Ah, no reason. Just," Stiles shrugs, "Morbid curiosity?"

Great, now his dad thinks he's a freak. The sheriff gives him an appraising stare, but obviously makes the call not to push it. Stiles hopes he doesn't put this together with the frequency with which Stiles shows - showed - up at crime scenes. That would be a terrible conclusion to reach. Or the right one, which would be even worse.

His father gives him a heavy, "Goodnight, Stiles," and heads out. Stiles returns to his cereal and his nausea.

He'd only asked because he _needed_ to know, he reasoned. If there were other werewolves around, it would be frankly irresponsible of him not to stay informed.

That's all.

*

The next few days, Stiles starts to notice a pattern. First Allison stops appearing at lunchtimes, and he's left with his fries in silence again. Then she starts spending more and more time in the library catching up on schoolwork Stiles thinks she can't possibly have so much of (so she says, at least, because he went there in an attempt to help one time when she was supposedly there - and wasn't). He realises after a week that it's been a full four days since he's even seen her face, which should be impossible even with a weekend, because - and he knows this from nights spend avoiding a brutal murdering by a certain terrifying ex-alpha - Beacon Hills High School is not all that big a school.

She can't avoid him forever. Especially if he hangs around her locker for the next six hours.

Luckily it doesn't take quite that long. He's only there for about half an hour, loitering after lunch, before he spies her coming down the corridor. She sees him from about thirty feet away and he can see her considering turning around and just pretending she hasn't noticed him, before finally she sighs and heads the rest of the way over, head down.

Stiles leans against the locker beside hers with his hands tangled in the straps of his backpack, waiting as she opens the locker and ducks behind the door, messing with her textbooks. She pulls it to, and he has a smile on his face, head tilted beatifically.

"Allison."

She gives him an equally blissful grin. "Stiles."

"Been spending a lot of time in the, er-" He pulls the locker door open again and peers round it. It doesn't look much different than it did before, certainly none of the mountains of extra books that normally appear whenever Stiles is the one spending hours of his free time avoiding someone. Because he can follow through on his flimsy excuses. "...Library, recently?"

"Actually, yes." She says, delicately closing the door and resetting the padlock. He doesn't respond to the lie, just nods until she gets uncomfortable.

"Look, Stiles, I don't know what you want me to say, I can't-"

"I don't want you to say anything!" Stiles straightens up, and his raised voice gets him a few looks from other students passing them by. He hushes up to a loud whisper. "In fact, if we could never mention the whole thing again, that would be unbelievably helpful!"

She studies him, her lips twisting in worry. "You're not... You don't want to...?"

He's not sure what she's asking at first, but then he screws up his face and waves a hand.

"Oh my God, no! The whole thing was just a freak accident, okay, I mean, not that you're - like a freak, or anything. No. I don't want to. But... But what you said before, about other options? You're kind of completely right." His tone becomes vaguely pleading, and he sort of hates himself but then finds he just doesn't really care anymore. He's not above begging now, not with so little left to give up.

"I just... I don't want to lose what we had."

Something in his desperate sincerity must get through, as she leans against her locker and rests her head against the cold metal, studying him. Then she straightens up and starts scanning faces, not just close to them but all the way down the corridor, and he gets that she's looking for nearby werewolves as she murmurs, "You really don't wanna... Again?"

"Definitely not. In fact, we should just never talk about it. Even though it was completely okay, because we're both single, and we're best friends and you're smokin' hot," she turns her face away as she smiles, "We can hide the whole thing, right at the back of our minds and never speak about it again. At all. Especially to those of a canine persuasion." Stiles pauses. "Or either of our dads. Who both own guns. You know what, just - to anyone ever, it's fine."

Allison seems relieved to find out that he's just as weirded out about the sex as she is, and she relaxes finally, leaning into him as easily as she used to.

"Thank God. I just spent the whole week freaking out thinking like that I had messed everything up _again_ , I swear to God I was just about ready to ask my Dad for a transfer or something-"

"You're speaking to him again?" Stiles remembers something she'd mentioned in her drunken mutterings, and she blushes pink, looking away. He quirks his lips sympathetically, and grimaces into his arm as he runs it over his head, remembering the 'no heavy topics' agreement that gone unspoken between them before.

"Uh, no."

She smiles slightly, but her voice is quiet, so he holds out his arm for her to link hers around instead. He's not exactly experienced with displays of intimate affection quite so bold, but they've been friends now for long enough to know that she finds it a reassuring gesture when either of them initiates physical contact; indeed, she seems happier when they start walking.

Stiles thinks while they walk that maybe it wouldn't be _that_ terrible if the two of them actually talked to each other about real matters occasionally - especially if it stops another night like that one from ever happening again. He seriously has enough crap to deal with without the soul-crushing guilt on top.

*

He's taking the trash out from his room when he notices a small patch where dust has stuck to the inside of the bin. Frowning he tries feeling it with his thumb, but it's dry now, more a gross tacky patch than actively sticky.

He goes to find a washcloth, wondering if he needs to relearn how to tie a condom. Surely it can't have been that long since he's used one.

*

Stiles is in the store, one of few places he leaves the house for these days, and meandering down the dairy aisle (wondering whether if he switches to soy milk, would his dad finally snap and kick him out) when something slams into him from behind. He immediately drops the carton of orange juice he's carrying and it lands on a corner, denting it badly.

He spins around, already feeling slightly foolish, and scrambles to pick it up before the cashier can glare at him. Luckily it's late, so there aren't that many people around to witness his usual grace and dexterity. It's only once he's on his knees that he sees the person who hit him - well, sees their _legs_. He follows the dark jeans up like a cliché to take in the leather jacket, the intimidating stance, and finally the pretty face of a young woman with dark hair almost as long as Allison's. She peers down at him, amused, and he straightens up clutching the juice to his chest.

"Sorry about that, that was... my bad."

It clearly wasn't. She smiles wider, and he's starting to get a bad vibe about this.

"You're Stiles, right? The Sheriff's kid?"

Okay, so girls flirt with him, sometimes, _occasionally_ , when they're drunk enough. But never overtly, and definitely never girls who look as though they've just graduated from the Derek Hale School of Brooding Leather Mystery.

Plus, the way she's looking at him now is positively predatory, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out who else he's seen eye people the same way. He has no way to tell if she knows that he knows, however, as long as he makes a conscious effort to temper his heartrate so the racing won't give him away.

It's too easy to slip into the 'dumbass human' guise, he thinks ruefully. Way too easy.

"Uh, yeah. You know him? I don't think I've seen you round town before."

"Not personally. Just... reputation." She seems as though she takes delight in speaking, her tongue flicking delicately between words.

"Oh. Well, you know, my Dad's pretty good at his job, so..."

Stiles takes a quick scan around for an escape route, scratching his noise to seem casual, but realises swiftly that it's pointless. The aisle they're in that he could have sworn held other customers just moments ago is now empty, and so are the others he can see. Even the checkout is unmanned, the cashier he remembered seeing on the way in having vanished.

He fervently hopes this isn't the moment in the movie where the music stings to make it clear that something is Very Wrong. If he goes over there to see another bloodied mutilation of a body, he quits. That's it. He's done.

"Uh, so I should really be getting back, anyway," he holds up the carton with a deceptively bland smile, "It was great meeting you, though. My Dad's probably waiting for me, actually. He's pretty nearby, so I should get-"

She moves so fast that Stiles can't pull away, can't even stagger crudely backwards. He can only once again drop the juice, except this time the seal splits, and the carton lies pulsing orange juice into a miserable pool at their feet.

There's something sharp under Stiles' jaw, and for a second he thinks it's a knife and he's misinterpreted the situation badly. But then he remembers Peter Hale once doing the same thing on the lacrosse pitch, and he should probably thank him sometime for giving Stiles so many near-death experiences for easy comparison.

Thank him, or kill him. Oh no, wait - did that already. That's never getting old.

He makes a choked sound at the surprise, and grabs at her arm as she forces his head slightly higher, looking for all the world as though she was studying him.

Not that Peter didn't do a great job setting up his scene but the werewolf claws, somehow, are twice as terrifying in the sinister artificial lighting of the deserted grocery store, some cute pop song still tweeting inanely over the speakers. Stiles has seen them in use, he's under no illusions - she could tear through his skin like it was butter.

Maybe not that smoothly. More like... chicken, perhaps.

"Not impressive." She says, frowning, though seeming more thoughtfully patronising rather than the antagonistic patronising he's come to expect from your garden-variety villain.

He flushes red, not sure whether it's from anger or embarrassment or probably just both.

"Sorry I don't... meet your expectations?" The words are difficult to force out, partially because of the whole 'really sharp nails digging into his throat' thing and partially because his teeth are gritted so tightly together. This isn't supposed to _happen_ to him anymore.

The smile reappears, too many teeth, Stiles thinks, trying not to push his head down too far in case she punctures his skin. But he's almost taller than her, and it's making it difficult to stare her menacingly in the eyes. She manages well enough for both of them.

Before she can speak, though, there's a growl from behind him, and Stiles thought he'd never be so glad to hear that voice again.

"Kali."

Derek's voice sound almost dangerous, a clear warning, and if Stiles didn't know better he would have suggested it was out of worry. There's a tense moment where Kali's eyes meet Stiles', and he finds himself genuinely uncertain what she might do next - then her eyes fleetingly radiate a brilliant red, and Stiles feels the barbs leave his neck.

He rubs the spot where she held him as he turns to Derek, scowling, and the guy's not even _looking_ at him, like he can't take his eyes off this girl.

Oh.

_Oh._

They're interrupted by the cashier, and Stiles has never been so relieved to see such an annoyed glare from a kid probably not that much older than himself, as she eyes the spillage and then goes to find a mop.

"Are you alright?" Oh good. Derek can tear his eyes away. Stiles stares back at him, incredulously.

"Am I- Yeah! _Peachy_. Oh my God."

Stiles makes an executive decision: the shopping can wait until daylight, more people, and possibly another store. He heads towards Derek only because he's in the way of the exit and to be honest he seems like the lesser of two lunatics right now, although stops as he reaches him.

"I stay away from you, you keep your werewolf crap away from me, that's the deal, right?" He throws a glare back at Kali, who doesn't seem perturbed in the least. "Maybe keep your girlfriend on a leash, I'm feeling some pretty intensive trust issues."

"Stiles. Dog jokes?" It's the first reaction he's gotten from her that isn't some kind of fascinated curiosity, and he fumbles.

"Yeah, well, I don't perform under pressure."

That's... Okay, that was not what he meant to say. Fan-freakin'-tastic.

He casts another dark look at Derek and doesn't stop to scrutinise his expression, just shoulders past him and heads for the Jeep. Derek can pay for the freaking juice.

*

It's nearly Christmas and if Stiles has definitely had his fill of Chrismas songs until next November. Maybe the one after that. But apparently the universe doesn't agree, and he can't find a radio station that isn't playing them solidly. He's debating whether to just give the whole thing up and sneak onto the xbox when his phone starts to vibrate, and he leans over to check the display.

Allison's name flashes up, along with a picture she took the other week of the two of them goofing around in Chemistry. It earned them a detention because if everything else has changed, Harris still hates his guts, and he remembers Scott's pained look across the classroom and the guilt when Stiles realised he'd have to explain why it was his fault that Allison was in detention with him.

It's been three weeks since the two of them had sex and since the first discussion, neither of them had mentioned it. They returned to the easy companionship they had had together before; although occasionally one of them will make a joke or tease the other and would get a reaction neither of them expect, like a frown or a half-hearted smile, and the moment would turn awkward. It's happening more often on Allison's end recently, and Stiles is starting to wonder if they needed to discuss it again.

He's really hoping not. People just don't put enough faith in good old memory repression anymore. Once they forget, once he stops feeling so intensely self-aware and overly careful with his movements every time they accidentally brush against each other - they'll be fine.

He hits the answer key and leans back in his desk chair, already grinning at the distraction.

"Allison, hey. Hey, did you start your Econ homework yet?" He flips a page in his textbook, boredly. "I can't get past question two and it's driving me crazy-"

"Stiles." She says, and it's the whispering which gets his attention. He sits up immediately, homework forgotten.

"You okay?"

She's silent for a few seconds, and then, still quietly, "Yeah, I'm fine. We need to talk... Can I come over?"

"Yeah, of course - no, wait-" he shifts, looking around. "My dad's home, is it urgent? I could come to yours."

"Not that urgent." She laughs, and he's not really sure where the joke is. "Don't come to mine, there's some people here... Can we meet somewhere? Somewhere," she's suddenly more hesitant, "Somewhere no one can hear us."

He knows what she's really saying, and that presents a little more of a problem - they obviously can't predict where any of the wolves will be, which rules out just about most of the town. He can't even be sure that they won't be overheard miles into the freaking forest. Then an idea comes to him, and he makes sure again he's alone in his room.

"How about the school? It's Saturday, so there shouldn't be anyone around."

"Good, that's perfe-" She stops suddenly, and Stiles freezes. Then she starts again, much lighter and at a normal level. "So I'll meet you at your place, right?"

Stiles is lost. "Wait, so, here or - I thought you just said at school?"

Allison laughs, a tinkling sound that seems sincere. "No Stiles, we don't have _school_ tomorrow. It's Saturday, remember?"

"What? I know, I just said-" Okay, Stiles officially has no idea what's going on in this conversation. He's about to ask how the hell she got hold of whatever she's drinking when it suddenly occurs to him that maybe she isn't as alone as he is, and the emphasis might actually be for his benefit.

"Stiles!" He can hear the exasperation, and he jumps in quickly before she has to reveal herself.

"Okay, sorry! I got it, I'll meet you there." He's already grabbing his jacket, heading for the stairs.

"Yep, I'll be there soon. Fine, I'll be quick, I wouldn't want it to get cold!"

Now that he's deciphered that she's speaking in code he gets that she's telling him to hurry, and he reassures her and hangs up. His father is watching some news report on the television, and Stiles tugs on his jacket in the doorway.

"I'm just heading over to Allison's, is that okay?"

The sheriff looks at him, and Stiles can hardly begrudge him the suspicion. "Oh?"

"Yeah, she, er, she's just feeling a little down about Scott, you know, wants some company. Her dad's there." Stiles adds, knowing it'll reassure his father. He does get a look as though his dad knows exactly what he's doing, but eventually he nods.

"Back by ten."

Stiles gives him a grateful smile, a little surprised at the lateness of the curfew but then he realises that it's already early evening, and dark enough that the sky is all but pitch black as he rolls the Jeep into the deserted parking lot. Allison's already there, leaning against her car in a winter coat and knitted hat. As he pulls to a stop she moves across the space to him and jumps into the passenger seat, and he switches the car off.

"What's up?"

She pulls the hat off and twists it between nervous fingers, and he can hear the engine ticking as it cools down in the December air. She's sitting facing the windscreen, staring straight ahead, and the cracked leather creaks beneath him as he shifts to face her.

Neither of them speak for a minute or two, until Stiles can finally find a topic that might distract them until she's ready to talk.

"Hey, uh, it's nearly Christmas. You guys put a tree up? We used to do it almost the day after Thanksgiving when my Mom was alive." He's not sure why he picked this as a 'safe' topic, but he's okay talking to Allison about her. "She used to get so excited about it, I remember this one time she pretty much covered the whole house in Christmas lights, almost blew out a fuse-"

"Stiles-" Stiles falls obediently silent, waiting as Allison swallows, and finally sighs. "...Stiles, I'm pregnant."

Stiles stares at her as long seconds tick away, before swiveling to stare identically through the windscreen. The squeak of his seat sounds thunderous in the emptiness. The shadowed school looms out of the darkness in front of them, but Stiles isn't seeing it.

Oh my God.

Holy _God_.

"It's mine?" He finally manages, tentatively. His hands drop from the steering wheel and into his lap, and they feel stiff, which distracts him with wondering how tightly he was gripping it. Allison snorts softly, humourlessly.

"Funny."

"Right." His brain must have stopped, because he has no idea if this means yes or no. "So it's... It's mine?"

Allison finally turns to him with narrowed eyes. " _Nice_ , Stiles."

He squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head in surrender when he realises the implications of what he's asking. "Right, I'm sorry, of course. That was stupid, I'm sorry." He pauses, takes in a couple of shaky breaths, before murmuring, "I'm sorry."

He's not really sure what he's saying sorry for, because something's telling him that you're not really supposed to apologise when you gets a girl pregnant. But her eyes soften as she catches it, and she leans back against the seat, body language far less defensive.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, not trusting himself for now to come up with anything coherent to add. She allows him the silence, watching as he digests it.

"You're sure?" Stiles thinks he says eventually, though it's much too quiet. Of course she's sure. She nods anyway.

"I saw the doctor this morning. Stiles, what are we going to do? I don't-"

"Hold on, just - wait a second. How did this even _happen_? I mean, we had-" He stops as he remembers taking out the trash a month ago, and covers his face with his hands. "Oh my God. This was my fault."

Allison eyes him, doubtfully. "It's nice of you to try, but it takes two to have unco-ordinated and _seriously_ drunk sex, so-"

"No, it was - the condom must have broken, there was a - like a patch, on the inside of my trash can. God, I didn't even _think_ -" He rubs his eyes, and she frowns at the middle distance. He stares out the driver-side window at the empty parking lot, trying to breathe steadily.

"It doesn't matter." She says in a low voice, and Stiles snaps his head around to look at her.

"Doesn't - How can it not matter?"

"It just doesn't. It's done, okay? I don't feel like this is a thing that somebody has to be _blamed_ for. I wasn't taking the pill, either, but it's not like I was expecting this to happen!" He aquiesces, but she's apparently just been waiting for the opportunity to get worked up about it. "What are we gonna do, Stiles? I can't have a baby! I'm already a year behind because we move around so much."

He's distracted by this, although he knows he shouldn't be. "You're eighteen already?"

"Almost." She nods up at him, her fingers up beside her mouth like she was biting them anxiously. "Scott didn't tell you?"

"No." Stiles settles back, then aims for a lighthearted shrug. "That's okay... I like older women."

The thump on the arm is probably well-deserved, though it's a little harder than he expected. He could probably allow it under the stress.

"This is serious!"

"I know, ow! I know, I'm sorry." No more terrible jokes. Unless she starts freaking out again. Or unless he does, but there's more of an edge of desperation to those, though.

"D'you... You know what you want to do, yet?"

Neither of them are ready to say it outright, but they both know what he's asking. He's not stupid - hell, he was in love with _Lydia Martin, Girl Extraordinaire_ for years, and he likes to think of himself as a decent guy, so he knows exactly how much of a say he has in this situation either way. Allison looks small curled in the passenger seat, though, staring at him as though his advice will be everything she needs.

"I can't... I need some more time to think. I have to let it sink in."

He nods, and really they both do.

"Are you going to tell your dad?"

Stiles sinks lower into his seat as this thought hits him, because fuck, his own dad is going to _literally kill him_. Allison's burying her face in her hands, with the same thoughts.

"I can't, not yet. God, I can't, I can't, how am I supposed to tell Scott-"

"Scott?" He looks up then, over to her, and _Jesus, Derek._ No, he doesn't give a shit about Derek anymore, he doesn't even have anything to do with this, but apparently no one told Stiles' body that because imagining Derek's reaction is making his chest tighten up and it hurts to breathe suddenly. And Scott - Scott's going to _kill_ him, and Stiles isn't even sure he wants to defend himself.

He suddenly feels a hand worm its way into his clenched fist and squeeze tightly, and it's enough to bring him out of it.

"It's okay. We can deal with this, okay? We fight supernatural creatures all the time. We can handle it."

She sounds strong, determined, and as he glances at her she looks it too. But her hand is still gripping his tightly, even after he squeezes it in return, and she doesn't pull away.

"Yeah. Definitely." He mirrors her position, her resolution. "Yeah."

Eventually she shifts to lie against his shoulder, and the two of them sit in the cooling car, brooding silently. After a little while he catches sight of the time, and sighs.

"I have to get home. You gonna be okay to get back?"

Allison straightens up, tiredly. "Yeah. Thanks." She gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes, and neither of them have to ask if they're going to think it over. It's not the kind of thing that's going to leave his mind.

So much for Econ homework.

She moves to get out of the car, but then stops and holds onto his sleeve.

"Wait! We need a way to talk about this without anyone knowing... I can't- I don't want anyone finding out by accident."

"We could..." He thinks for a second, frowning. "How about ComicCon? It's July, that's long enough for us to figure out what to do, right?" She nods, thoughtfully. "It's perfect, it'll just sound like we're really excited for ComicCon. Which I totally am, FYI."

She gives a shaky laugh, and he grins back at her, a lot more cheerful than he feels. She slides out gracefully and heads back to her own car, and he tries not to check her out as she moves. He can't remember if she's meant to be showing anything yet - probably not, he thinks, after only a month, but she's wearing quite a thick coat and he's not sure how long they'll be able to keep it a secret.

"I am so unprepared for this." Stiles mutters, hands gripping the steering wheel.

He waits for her to leave first, and is in the process of following her to the exit of the parking lot when he decides to just tail her back to her home in some inexplicable urge to make sure she gets home safely. When they reach the Argent's home he thinks she's going to get out and yell at him, but instead she only gives him a strained smile as he drives past slowly. He lifts his fingers in a contrived wave, and presses the accelerator to speed away before Chris Argent can notice that he's there.

*

When he isn't checking his phone constantly the next day, it stays within arm's reach. Allison doesn't call.

*

On Monday morning, he and Allison maintain their usual routine. It's not until after lunch period that he slips into a desk beside her at the start of pre-calculus, and turns to her.

"So... Made a decision about ComicCon yet?"

She glances at him with a lacklustre smile. "Not yet. San Diego, you know... It's a big deal."

He catches a look from Scott across the room and somehow feels even _worse_ , and suddenly his brilliant secret code just feels like he's rubbing it in. He and Scott had been desperate to go last year, and they'd made a pact to save up. Scott had been just as excited as he had.

Stiles doesn't mention it again, ducking his head to concentrate on his work.

*

His dad's on night shifts the whole week, but it's not until Thursday that Stiles gets up the courage to ask Allison if she wants to talk again.

She appears at the door after his father's left for work, and he invites her in with far too much clumsiness. He pulls a chair out for her at the kitchen table, because that's what you're supposed to do, right, it's basic chivalry, and he's in the middle of offering her a drink, because they've definitely got milk and water, obviously, who doesn't have water, and probably juice too but if not then the shop is just down the road and it'll take him like five minutes for him to pick some up - but Allison interrupts, gently.

"Stiles. Just sit down."

"...Right. Right." He nods, clears his throat, and sits across the table.

But then he thinks maybe he should sit closer, and switches chairs to sit beside her.

"Stiles - Stiles." She grabs his hand to stop him from moving again, and he swallows to try and calm himself. God, he didn't even think he was that nervous.

"So, have you... You've thought about it." Stiles finally states, leaning his arms the table with his hand still clasping Allison's. She nods, unnecessarily. He waits. "And?"

Her eyes meet his, and he can feel her grip tighten in his. "I... I can't- I can't."

"Hey, it's okay." He leans forward and uses his free hand to pull her into a swift hug. "It's okay. Um, you're eighteen, almost eighteen, but you're still at school and, and your ex-boyfriend is a werewolf, you know, it's okay. It's fine to decide on - I mean, if that's your decision. Which it is."

She's looking at him, agonised, and he settles back.

"Isn't it?"

She stays quiet for a long minute. "I should. Everything you just said, you're right. I know you're right. A- an abortion would be the right thing to do."

"...But?" He's hesitant, but it's clear there's one coming. Her eyes are misty, tears already threatening.

"But... We've lost so many people, Stiles. I just... I don't think I'm strong enough." She speaks slowly and stares up at the ceiling, but she can't disguise how thick her voice is with emotion, and his Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. "I don't think I can. I'm not strong enough."

Her hand is still clasped in his and at this point he's not sure whose grip is tighter, but it's something steady for them both, an anchor. Stiles presses the back of his free hand against his mouth and takes a deep, shuddering breath in, staring at the table. Allison's eyes are on the ceiling still, and it only takes one glance to her before he's pushing himself up off his chair and enveloping her in a hug, and she's clinging to him in return.

He's half-kneeling, hovering uncomfortably by her chair, but she seems to know because she slides off the chair until they're both sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor. Her arms are around his waist and she sobs into his chest, while he rests his chin on top of her head and he strokes her hair, helplessly. He closes his eyes against the hot sting of his own tears, not bothering to hide the loud and agitated sniffs.

*

His butt has long since gone numb when she tires herself out, but he still cradles her and doesn't move until she finally does, long minutes later.

"Stiles..."

He looks down at her. "You want some tissues? I don't know if we... We've got some kitchen towel, I guess-"

"No - Stiles, I'm gonna be sick-"

Stiles scrambles to his feet and helps her up, trailing behind her as she races for the bathroom. He lingers in the doorway for a few seconds hearing her throw up into the toilet and grasps at his short hair anxiously, before finally moving in to crouch beside her. Gently he tugs at her hair, pulling it all behind her and tucking it out of her way.

He rubs a hand over her back, slow and repetitive and mostly absent-minded, until she finally settles back.

"I feel... Like such crap."

Stiles fails to hold back a laugh. She's still a knockout, even after throwing up in his bathroom. "Well, I wasn't going to _say_ anything..."

She opens her eyes to glare at him balefully. He winces, indicates her hair. "I think - you've got some..."

Her face falls as she notices that she has vomit in her hair. "I was thinking... Maybe I should cut it. Not by a lot, but enough."

Stiles gets to his feet to fill a glass at the bathroom sink, then hands it to her and settles so he's sitting in the small space between the toilet and the bath. He stays silent, half-smiles. Like way too much in his life right now, it's not up to him.

He steeples his fingers and watches her, but she seems to be over the nausea for now, though she's pale. He clears his throat before he speaks again, in defence of the hoarseness he knows waits for him.

"Did you think about adoption?"

Allison stares at the bottom of the glass of water, unseeing. "Yeah." She doesn't elaborate, and Stiles doesn't push it. He just reaches a hand over and rubs at the one she's using to cling to the side of the toilet as though it's a lifeline.

"Hey." She doesn't look up. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

Her huffed laugh surprises him. "No. But it's not like I'm going to be the only pregnant girl at school, right?"

Stiles tilts his head. "Really?"

"Yeah." She rests her head on her arm and looks at him. "There's, um, Jenna Armstrong, she's in... tenth grade. You haven't seen her?"

"Oh yeah."

He vaguely recalls seeing a girl maybe a little younger than them around school, heavily pregnant, and starts to regret not making more of an effort to be nice to her. A few of the people outside Allison that he still talked to had been gossiping about her, discussing rumours about the father, who she wasn't revealing, and what if it was one of the teachers. It makes him feel sick now. He should have stopped them, said something.

"You know you don't have to decide right now."

"I've looked it up. The best time to have an abortion is within the first twelve weeks." Allison says quietly. He tries to work it out, but she does it for him. "It's been five."

He's silent in reply, but the questions he's spent days going over and over are starting to rematerialise.

"It's junior year." A little to the point, but he'll run with it. "We've got exams, the SATs-"

"I know." She sighs into her arm. "And everything that you said before, and everything you haven't thought of yet, and everything _I_ haven't thought about yet. I know. This is so messed up."

"Hey." Stiles leans forward, to get her attention. "I'm gonna be here, okay? Whatever you... decide, whatever happens. I'll be here."

She sits back with a sigh, looking beseechingly at him. "Stiles, what do you _think_?"

His hand stills against hers, and he drops his eyes to the floor. "I don't know." He answers eventually, with a shake of his head. "Allison, you can't ask me that. I can't answer-"

She knocks her hand against his hand, and then folds her fingers over his.

He's had female friends before, plenty who aren't werewolves or even werewolf-adjacent, in fact, but nothing like this.

He loves Allison, he really does. Not romantically. He loves her like he loves Scott, like she only has to ask and he would do anything for her. He squeezes her hand in return, the gesture saying whatever he can't put into words, and she sighs, reassured.

He still can't figure out what he's even supposed to think. Babies are a Good Thing, at least so far in his experience of life, and he has a few cousins and neighbours he's babysat for. He likes kids, he's good with them, and they like him, which is better. But yeah, if he was being honest? Not only are they still teenagers themselves, but their lives right now are just _holy messes_. There's no way they can justify bringing a baby into it.

Her brutal honesty, though, is what's biting at him. He knows how much she hates feeling powerless, and he knows how much her admission cost her. He leans his head back against the wall, and sighs.

"I think... I think that, whatever happens, we'll get through it. I think that, you're probably the strongest person that I know, and you can handle anything," he flicks his eyes up to her, and she raises her head to give him a grateful smile. His voice is matter-of-fact, because he doesn't actually think these things, he _knows_ them, "And I also think that you should probably warn me when you want to tell your dad, because I need to start looking around for cheap plane tickets. Actually I've heard Peru is real nice this time of year."

Allison snickers out a guilty laugh, and he catches her eyeing her hair again despondently, so he helps her to her feet and hands her a towel, and goes to find some clothes for her to wear after she takes a shower.

Taking care of people. Stiles can do that. He's always been good at it. He doesn't remember how it started, couldn't say exactly when his relationship with his mother shifted from her lovingly tucking him in at night to him taking over the chores that she could no longer do, from her making his lunch in the morning to him worming his small hand into his father's, when he couldn't take his eyes away from his wife's coffin.

Then Scott got bitten, and Stiles was needed more. And Scott practically clung to him, because Stiles knew what he was doing, even though Stiles actually has no idea what he's doing. But Stiles is an expert at bluffing. Stiles can bullshit his way through anything.

And _Derek_.

He's pretty sure any half-decent therapist would slap him with some kind of complex, but he doesn't care. It's not a bad thing, to be the one taking care of people.

Now Allison needs him. So he can handle it. He can be strong for her.

*

He's curled around her on his bed, Allison's hand pressing his against her stomach over one of his t-shirts that looks much too large on her. Her hair is still wet, and he's contemplating whether he should head down and sleep on the couch, though it's probably a little too late for his dad to worry about anything happening between the two of them.

She turns her face towards him, and he lifts his head off the pillow to look at her as she moves around to see him properly. He feels her fingers tangle in the front of his shirt, and she raises her head and stretches up to kiss him.

Stiles kisses her back, taken by surprise, but only for a moment. He waits until she pulls away first, closing her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I just thought - I'm sorry."

"Allison... Allison, it's okay. You don't want this." He stops himself, and nudges her shoulder with his forehead. She's quiet, her face turned away, but he knows she's listening. "You- you're still in love with Scott."

It takes every ounce of self-control to keep his voice steady. She tenses beneath him and he wonders if he's made a mistake, but then he hears the scrape against the pillow as she looks up.

"And he's _definitely_ still in love with you. I can't do that to him."

"You're right."

Somehow being right doesn't make him any happier.

"And you're in love with Derek."

This time Stiles is the one who tenses, before he grins, warm and startled. "That's funny. You're funny, Argent."

She moves then, turns over so they're facing each other, and if he gets any closer to the edge he'll slip straight off and onto the floor. He really needs to buy a bigger bed.

"Stiles... That wasn't a joke."

The grin is still there, only marginally dimmer. "I'm not in love with Derek. I hate Derek, remember? Like, I hate him so much that I'm in actual physical pain when I think about him, that's how much I hate him."

She tucks a hand under her head, and raises the other to his face. He thinks she's going to stroke it or touch his hair, but then she pokes him hard in the cheek, and he starts.

"Ow- what-!"

"I'm not going to spell it out for you. If you ever want a shot at getting over him, then you have to understand what he really means to you. I hate a lot of people, Stiles, but it doesn't _hurt_ me to think about them. Not like when Scott- when I think about Scott. Just tell me, when was the last time you thought about Lydia?"

He humours her, trying to remember. "Uhh, I guess a couple days ago? Last time I saw her, yeah. I thought 'wow, Lydia looks great today'."

"And... When was the last time you thought about Derek?"

An hour ago. And this morning. And last night. And twice in the shower. He's about to make the joke aloud, and then he realises her point.

When he's silent, she knows she's won, though it doesn't feel much like a victory.

He shuffles until he's lying on his back, and she moves across to lie half on top of him, arm thrown over his waist.

"Hey, you're still a minor, right? Isn't the doctor supposed to inform your dad or something?" He feels, rather than sees, the shake of her head.

"We've still got time." He hears her murmur into his chest, but he doesn't move.

It's a long time before either of them falls asleep, but in the early hours of the morning he can feel her breathing even out, and he lies awake, alone in the darkness.

*

He spends the next week barely leaving her side. The first time he waits by her locker to carry her heaviest textbooks, she laughs at him. The fourth, she hits him with one. It's when he asks her for the eleventh time how she is that she finally snaps.

"Stiles. You need to stop, right now. I'm fine. Although I might be sick on you, and I can't promise it will be a total accident." She catches sight of something over Stiles' shoulder, and hesitates. "ComicCon is a long time away, and I still haven't made a _decision_ yet."

Stiles doesn't need to look to know that one of the wolves is nearby. "Okay, I'm sorry!"

He almost mentions the clock they're on, but - well, she probably gets it. He also doesn't talk about the looser clothes he's noticed her sporting. They both know they're running out of time.

*

After Christmas, she tells him she wants to tell her father. He agrees that it's a good idea, on the surface. On the inside, he knows this means that he has to talk to his own father, and he's more than willing to put that off for as long as possible.

But Chris Argent still hunts werewolves for a living (actually, he probably doesn't get paid for that, which sort of makes the whole thing worse), and has a garage full of guns, and Stiles would much rather his father got the story from him and not from the angry hunter. He's not falling for that one again.

She asks if he needs help telling his dad, but he gently declines. It's not that it will sound better coming from him, but it's not going to be pretty, and he isn't going to shield himself behind Allison.

He waits until his father is settled at the kitchen table, obviously not hoping for the best judging by Stiles' nervousness. There's literally no way that he can explain this and still come off well by the end of it, so he tries for the hard and fast, tear off the band-aid option.

"Dad." He rubs his knuckles against his other palm, fidgeting. "Dad, Allison's pregnant."

He watches his father's eyes narrow, and he can feel his stomach twist in dread the second his father figures out why Stiles is informing him of this.

"Stiles, tell me that you did not have sex with this girl. Tell me that you are _not_ responsible."

He's not sure how he manages to keep his voice steady, but he enunciates each word clearly. "I can't... actually say that."

"Are you insane? God _dammit_ Stiles, of all the stupid, irresponsible things that you've done - you're seventeen years old, for crying out loud, you're still a kid!"

The sheriff has abandoned his seat in favour of leaning over the table across from Stiles, and Stiles stays seated, eyes fixed on his hands. Getting confrontational or defensive, he knows, would just make the whole thing ten times worse.

"I know, Dad, I'm sorry - it was just one time, it was a really bad decision and we both regretted it. We didn't think-"

"You're damn right you didn't think! For Chrissake, Stiles-" His father sighs into his palm, shaking his head in frustration. "She's keeping it?"

Stiles lifts a hand in a vague approximation of a shrug. "She doesn't know yet. She's talking to her dad about it."

"Is that why you're telling me this now?"

"I just... thought you might appreciate the opportunity to get your shot in before he does?" _Oh my God Stiles shut up._

"Stiles, for God's sake!" The sheriff looks just about done with him. Stiles likes to affectionately joke it's his natural state, but he isn't joking now. "Is this about Derek Hale? Some kind of... retaliation because I stopped you from seeing him?"

"No! God, Dad, no, it has nothing to do with Derek," _it has everything to do with Derek,_ "it was just me and Allison, and we both-" _got really stupid drunk_ "-needed somebody, and - and yeah, it was moronic, and it was a huge mistake. We get that."

His dad goes quiet for a really long time, leaning on the back of a chair and watching him, and Stiles is about to apologise again to fill the silence when he finally speaks.

"Is this about your Mom?"

As soon as the words sink in, Stiles' eyes snap up to his father's face in shock. "No, why would - Dad, _no_."

"Just - help me understand, Stiles. You used to be so easy to figure out, I don't... What happened to you? I thought that if I took you away from that group, you wouldn't get into so much trouble, and it seemed like it worked." _At the expense of my sanity, maybe_ ; Stiles doesn't laugh, but it's a close thing, "How... can you find trouble everywhere?"

"Natural talent?" Stiles manages a weak grin at this, but the look on his father's face shuts him down pretty quickly.

"Stiles, just... Just don't." His father moves to sit down, and Stiles tries not to look too hard at how tired he seems, because there's no way that he can possibly feel more guilty than he already does. "Just go upstairs, Stiles."

Nope. Wait. There it is.

His chair scrapes against the floor as he stands up uncertainly, and Sheriff Stilinski doesn't look up as his son moves to the doorway. Stiles halts as he nears it, lingers.

"I just, er... Even if. Even if you completely hate me right now-" There's a breath of laughter from his father that either means _'I can't hate you Stiles'_ or _'You're making it difficult to do anything but'_ , and Stiles can't tell, so he presses on regardless, "I wanted to say that whatever she decides, I'm going to help her. If that makes a difference. I'm gonna do whatever it takes."

His dad doesn't make a movement, apparently deep in thought, and Stiles finally turns on his heel, ducks his head, and climbs the stairs.

*

He asks Allison how it went in homeroom the next morning. She leans against the hard chair back, smiling the sunny smile of the well-rested.

"Cathartic." Which he takes to mean lots of screaming and possibly violence, but also almost definitely hugging. She asks him the same question, and he plasters a smile on, because it's not her job to worry about him.

"Uh, fine! Well, not _fine_ , but, you know. Pretty good. As well as can be expected, in fact. He understood."

He can see the doorway from the angle he's sitting and Scott enters with Isaac, so he settles back with a wink and a snort of laughter and sticks the end of his pen into his mouth, before she can press him with the suspicions she clearly has.

*

"I hate this gas station." Allison says glumly, staring out through the windshield. Stiles glances to her but she doesn't elaborate, so he shrugs and hops out, reaching for the pump. It's mid-January, but she rolls the window down anyway, closes her eyes and breathes in the cool air. He's only halfway through filling the tank when she slides gracefully to the ground and motions towards the building, and he understands the signs that she's probably just about to throw up.

She's inside asking for the key to the bathroom when he sees the sleek black Camaro, and it doesn't matter how furiously he mutters "No, no, no, no, _no, no, no_ ," he know it's futile. Sure enough, the car pulls in to the pump facing the Jeep.

To his surprise, it's Peter Hale who was driving, which makes it more likely that Peter actually heard him and just decided to be a jerk.

"Stiles." Peter acknowledges him smugly as he reaches for the hose because Peter is incapable of doing anything if it's not smug, and Stiles spares only the most sarcastic of smiles in return before scowling down at the stupid nozzle which seriously needs to freakin' hurry up before he just leaves with it still in the stupid hole.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Peter watching him, but Stiles doesn't look up until Allison heads out of the building and crosses the forecourt to the restrooms. She hasn't noticed the new car, but he can see Peter's eyes refocus, sees his expression change and his nostrils flare as he takes a breath in.

Then he looks at Stiles, and Stiles knows they've lost.

"I have to say, Stiles, you continue to surprise me."

Stiles runs an agitated hand over his face and almost trips over the hose as he clambers over it to get closer to Peter. "What are you, a freakin' werewolf ultrasound?"

Peter doesn't react as Stiles scrambles closer. He just looks, if possible, more amused. "I take it that the rest of the pack don't know yet?"

"No, none of them have noticed, and you _can't tell them_. We still - there's things we need to think-" Stiles scans the forecourt, and there's no one else nearby, but suddenly the need for secrecy is overriding whatever fear he still has of Peter. "P-Please. We just need a little more time."

Something in Peter's face softens, the cheerfulness fades negligibly. Stiles waits for him to agree, and he has to agree because there's no way they can say anything yet, they aren't ready for it. They both look over as Allison exits the bathroom looking distinctly less nauseated than she was before, and she freezes when she sees them in return, the keys falling from her hand and clattering against the concrete.

"They should know, Stiles." Peter's voice draws his attention back. Stiles can hear the bitter edge of regret, and he shakes his head.

"Don't. Don't tell them, you can't tell them. Just... Please, Peter, God _please_ -"

"I'm sorry, Stiles."

To be fair to him he does at least look marginally apologetic, but Stiles still takes an overcautious step back as the man steps closer. The apology turns exasperated, and Peter grabs hold of his wrist.

It isn't a painful grip, but it's too much of a reminder of last year for Stiles to do more than instinctively struggle away from him. Peter doesn't release him immediately, and it's only once Stiles finally tears his hand away and stumbles back a few paces that he feels the wad of cash Peter stuffed into his fingers. He stares at it in surprise, but Peter's smooth voice interrupts him as he slides back into the Camaro.

"I should be getting this back to Derek. You can pay for me, right Stiles?"

"You-" Stiles is tempted to just drop it all right there, but the door slams before he can, and the car takes off as Allison reaches him.

"What the hell was that about?"

"...We're out of time." She understands what he means immediately, and fiddles with the ends of her new shorter hair anxiously. "Also, Derek's uncle? Is a freakin' _JACKASS!"_

Stiles stares after the car in fury, imagining Peter chuckling away to himself inside it. He gives the cash a cursory glance; there's way too much for the small amount Peter had filled up. More than enough to cover Stiles' gas, if he wants.

Stiles swallows, and shakes his head, fuming. _Fuck._

"You ready?"

Allison looks pale. "Not even close."

"Yeah, me too."

It only takes Stiles a minute to pay for both cars and return the key, and then they're on the road heading towards the Hale house, which is where Peter more or less told them he was heading straight for. Luckily his dad stopped telling his deputies to pull him over if he went near the Preserve weeks ago, so when they pass a cruiser he doesn't stop, though he's not looking forward to the lecture he'll get. It's just one of many.

Stiles shakes his head, tapping his thumb against the steering wheel in a steady release of nervous energy. Allison is quiet in the passenger seat when he glances over, white as a sheet.

"You okay?"

She shakes her head silently. He returns his attention to the road ahead, tense. _Yeah, I know how you feel._

They reach the clearing far too soon. He finds himself oddly relieved that whatever else has changed, the house is still its usual daunting and tragic figure, looming out of the winter fog in the stark daylight. The owner of the house is equally daunting and tragic, and standing on the porch beside his uncle who's looking far too pleased with himself. Scott's heading to greet them, and Stiles judges by how glad he is to see them that it's unlikely Peter's given them away yet.

Unless-

" _Peter_." Stiles growls, using his name as a curse. He doesn't even care that there isn't anyone around right now that can't hear him. Allison looks over. "Oh my God, he was never going to _tell_."

She closes her eyes, sighs, and then moves to open her door. "It doesn't matter. You know we wouldn't have come otherwise."

"Would've." He grumbles, reaching for his own door handle. She's right, of course she is, they're as scared as each other; they would never have gone there voluntarily, but it doesn't stop him feeling pissed about being manipulated.

Stiles heads around to hold Allison's door open for her, though she doesn't really need it. He kind of does.

"You shouldn't have done that." He calls over to Peter, who shrugs, and Stiles honest-to-God loathes him because Peter knows _exactly_ how much of a coward he was being. Stiles digs out the rest of the money and tosses it, watching it flutter to the ground beside him. "And there's your change. I can pay for my own crap, so thanks but no thanks."

Peter doesn't respond to Derek's curious glance and exits into the house, and Stiles doesn't care any more, because Derek's hanging back on the porch and he can't take his eyes away from him. His stomach twists harshly, the way it always does when he thinks about the pack, but it's so much worse now. He doesn't want to break the eye contact because it feels like for the first time in a long time Derek, though he's wary, might not actually be completely opposed to seeing Stiles.

It might not be Allison who throws up this time.

Speaking of, she and Scott are exchanging an awkward hello beside him. Scott looks at Stiles, happier than he has any right to be, and Stiles cracks a strained grin at him, trying and failing to stop fiddling with the cord of his jumper.

Derek's not as quick as Peter, but it doesn't take him long. Stiles can't tell the exact moment that he zeroes in on Allison, but the second he looks at Stiles, his face shuts down. Stiles would rather tell his Dad ten times over than face this. Not only does he have no defense, he doesn't even want to _try_. He tugs harder at the cord, trying to pull the hoodie away from his neck even though it's nowhere near it, because suddenly he feels like he can't breathe.

Scott's face is slowly falling as he starts to notice the tension, and he touches Allison on the arm. "Hey... What's wrong?"

"Scott." Derek's voice easily covers the space between them. He's not getting any closer, probably out of respect for Allison, which Stiles knows she would appreciate. Before the whole thing started, he doesn't actually think he would have cared that much, and he wonders how that's supposed to make him feel. Like an asshole, probably, but it's not like that's a new thing. "Use your senses. Like I've been teaching you."

"What-?" Scott throws a glance to Derek, then looks back at Stiles and Allison, warily. Stiles can see him eyeing them, and he actually takes a step back, as though to take them in better. He watches Scott's eyes rove over them, and if Scott's using his werewolf senses at the same time... God, Stiles is so stupidly _proud_ of him for it. He's like a real little wolf boy.

"You... You're p..." Scott breathes, his attention finally focused. He steps forward again, but Stiles knows for sure that Scott's not stupid, so he's avoiding his eyes.

He realises almost immediately that that's a really bad idea.

"... _Stiles?_ "

"Scott, buddy you just gotta listen to me, okay, it was - it was just one time, and there was way too much alcohol-"

Scott's advancing on him, and Stiles takes a step away. He can see the flash of gold in Scott's eyes and while he's definitely signed himself up for a punch at least, call it a personal preference, but he would really prefer to still have all of his mental faculties accounted for afterwards. Allison's shouting but Scott just reaches back with single-minded determination, and socks Stiles in the jaw.

*

Stiles wakes up on the forest floor, slowly and in a lot of pain.

It's still light, he thinks woozily with the dappled light of the cloudy sky on his eyelids. Wasn't he to be knocked out until night had fallen or something? That's the way they do it in movies. He squeezes one eye open, apprehensively, but it doesn't look as though it's even been ten minutes. The Jeep's engine is still ticking as it cools. Nothing works like it's supposed to.

He's alone, or at least he seems to be. Groaning, he rolls over so he can pull himself into a sitting position, but then Derek appears from around the side of the Jeep. Stiles stares, but Derek doesn't react, just kneels in front of him and tilts his head up to look at what Stiles is sure is going to be a real asshole of a bruise.

Stiles can feel his fingers brush his face, gentler than strictly necessary, but Derek always was surprisingly gentle around him. Overcompensating for his strength, Stiles had always assumed.

Derek's not meeting his eyes.

"You'll be fine."

Stiles waits until he's released him before he pokes at the bruise, wincing.

"You'll be fine, if you _stop touching it._ "

"But it hurts!" Stiles whines, not really sure why that's his defense but it definitely means that he can keep prodding at it, for some reason. Derek rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, and Stiles thinks for a second that that's it, they're done, but Derek just leans against the grille of his Jeep two feet away.

He looks around the clearing, a little struck by the quiet. "Where's Scott?"

"Talking to Allison."

Stiles wants to get up and stand beside Derek, but Derek's arms are folded in his classic 'I'm a big huge grump' pose and the forest floor with his throne of dead leaves is a lot more inviting. He is also a little worried about passing out if he stands up right now, too, but that's incidental.

"Aha, more things that don't involve Stiles."

"Stiles-"

"No - it doesn't matter, Derek, okay? I know how it goes. I'm over it. That was a stupid thing to say."

Derek's jaw is working as though he's considering saying something, but Stiles clearly has lost all ability to read him because Derek doesn't 'consider' saying things. Derek gets exasperated and _says_ things. Stiles continues to gingerly press at his jaw, grimacing.

"Can't believe I got knocked out by Scott." Derek eyes him. "You know, this one time when we were eleven, Jackson was kind of pushing us around and Scott tries to fight back." He rests his arms on his knees and grins as he remembers, and Derek watches the ground between them.

"So he takes a swing at him, _misses_... _slams_ into the see-saw, and takes down three other kids. Gets us both a detention." He's chuckling at the memory and Derek's actually smirking a little, and _God he's missed this._

He's picking at a leaf when the silence starts to become oppressive.

"I'm just gonna wait here for Allison, you don't have to stay with me. Won't even know I'm here. I probably won't even die from my injuries." He snorts at himself, and Derek shrugs.

"It's fine." He pauses. "So, you and Allison."

Stiles can't suppress a scathing smile, shaking his head at the leaf he's shredding. "Oh yes... Me and Allison."

There sort of is a he-and-Allison now, he supposes, even though it's totally platonic. It's a little disconcerting.

He takes a deep breath in, tries to focus himself. He needs to get this out, before Derek remembers that Stiles isn't supposed to be hanging around still.

"Listen, Derek - what I said before, I shouldn't have said it. It was - I was just hurt, it was stupid." He swallows. "You know what... that's not even an excuse. Just forget it. You didn't deserve that."

"You don't have to apologise."

"No, I do. Trust me, I have a lot to apologise for recently." Stiles gives mirthless laugh, and Derek just shuts his mouth uncomfortably. Stiles looks down, then back up with a bright grin he means even less. "How's the girlfriend?"

His tone is teasing, but Derek's suddenly looking at him alarmed, and Stiles worries he's crossed some line again. Before either of them can say anything, they're interrupted as Allison heads out of the wreck of the house with Scott. It only takes Stiles a second to notice that they're holding hands.

"Scott's going to give me a ride home. Are you okay?" She winces at the blossoming bruise on his jaw, and Stiles pulls himself to his feet, nodding.

"Yeah, totally. Derek made sure-" He turns to indicate, but then double-takes; Derek's gone. He rubs a hand over his hair instead, marvelling over the fact that the guy can surprise the hell out of him when he isn't even around. " _Oh_ my - God... Never mind. It's great, though. You guys definitely need to talk, this is good. Text me later, okay?"

She nods and Scott... Well, he's not ignoring him, at least, but he looks deeply conflicted. Stiles flashes him a quick and clumsy smile, and the expression calms for a moment; Stiles palms his keys and tries not to trip over this time as he heads for his car.

*

"Oh, Stiles, what the hell has happened to you..."

"Just now? Or is that more of, like a lifestyle question?" Stiles allows his father's hands to probe his face, and he tries not to draw parallels with the whole Gerard thing, but it takes some effort. Sheriff Stilinski eyes his son repremandingly.

"So, I told Scott." Stiles says, shrugging in a passive attempt to sound carefree.

His father studies him for a moment, then makes a grunt of surprise. "Huh. Didn't know he had it in him."

Stiles can't help the surprised laugh at his father's unexpected joke. "You're not mad?"

This earns him another disapproving look, as his dad releases him. He follows him into the kitchen, preparing himself for the lecture that's probably coming his way.

"Kind of a superfluous question at this point, don't you think?"

"Touché." Stiles smirks as he takes a seat at the table, and his father sighs as he reaches for an ice pack. Stiles tries not to notice the way he lingers when he sees the whiskey.

The ice is cold enough to distract from the building headache, and he waits until his jaw feels a little more numb before he leans back in his seat expectantly. His father's watching him from the sink, and Stiles is surprised by the lack of anger in his expression.

"I talked to Chris Argent."

That was unexpected. "So... When's the execution?"

"Stiles," his father chides, but it's not harsh, just quiet. Stiles takes it as a warning. "Obviously, he's not thrilled about the situation, and I can't say I disagree." _Yeah, tell me about it,_ Stiles winces into the ice pack. "But... he's willing to accept that there's blame on both sides. That _said_ -"

"I meant what I said before, Dad. I'm gonna do whatever I can."

His dad doesn't push it, but he can tell he has more to say. "Look, Stiles-"

"Dad, I know, okay? I get it. It was... a dumbass mistake, and it won't ever happen again, and I know it's way too late, but... I'm sorry."

"...Alright." Stiles can't even bring himself to meet his father's eyes, but he sees his hand lift in a dismissive gesture, and he can tell he's not convinced. He can hardly blame him, of course, but all the same... Stiles could use someone on his side.

*

The three month mark comes and goes, and the sheriff walks in on Stiles watching Indiana Jones with Allison in uncharacteristic silence. She sees him and smiles, softly and uncertainly; Stiles doesn't, concentrating hard. The sheriff reluctantly leaves them to it.

Later, Stiles and his father have dinner. Mostly in silence, which isn't all that unusual these days, but Stiles never thought he'd miss his father complaining about the occasional salad Stiles liked to enforce.

"So, Allison's decided." Stiles starts carefully, after staring at a forkful of food for much too long. "She's keeping it."

His father consider this, nods, and returns to his food, as though this doesn't come as any great surprise. Stiles lowers his eyes and doesn't bring it up again.

*

Scott still doesn't speak to him at school.

The shower's cool. The shower doesn't judge him when he cries until the hot water runs out. And when his dad looks at him suspiciously on the stairs later, he can say he got shampoo in his eyes. It's a great disguise.

*

"Woah, easy on the fries."

"I could kill you."

"Unnerving as the casual tone is, you definitely couldn't."

Allison narrows her eyes, and Stiles tries to look non-threatening. "Or... you _wouldn't_." He tries, and she accepts this, though stabs at his fries with more force than strictly necessary.

He's about to apologise, or at least think about hinting at it, when a tray drops onto the table in front of Allison and he looks up in surprise to see Scott taking a seat.

"What-"

Another tray appears and Isaac is opposite him, shooting him a look of wry amusement. Allison is already smiling at Scott and doesn't seem at all surprised, but Stiles looks up again; sure enough, Erica and Boyd both sit on Stiles' other side. Erica leans over to steal a fry with a wink.

So, apparently Stiles missed _this_ memo.

*

He gives up on trying to pin down a straight answer when Boyd shrugs, Isaac grins and Erica makes a comment about how depressing it is to watch him eat lunch alone, like they haven't just inexplicably ignored him for nearly half the school year. He's seriously considering throwing a hissy fit and just ignoring them straight back, but that probably wouldn't help anything at this point and besides which, there is a goddamn mystery he wants solving.

But then Allison and Scott disappear into each other's eyes for the rest of the day, which Stiles is determined to be very supportive about. Just as soon as he can get his best friend to talk to him again.

Unwilling to break up whatever Allison is rebuilding with him, Stiles makes it to the end of the week before he's fed up. It isn't that Scott's ignoring him exactly, but he can only take so many of Scott's forced grins and tacit suspicions before he decides he needs to act.

Which is why he's outside Scott's house feeling for handholds in the middle of the night.

He would use the front door only he's not convinced Scott would let him in (at least straightaway) and he's not really up for a doorstep apology. His mom's car isn't around but he can see Scott's light on, and he's pretty sure Allison's at her home so he won't be interrupting anything. Plus they make jokes about Derek doing it all the time but this is Stiles, and Scott doesn't care when Stiles clambers through his window.

It takes some effort to haul himself up on top of the porch, because any upper body strength he may have gained from lacrosse has deserted him and he is, if possible, even skinnier and pastier than he was before, which is a little pathetic. He artfully skirts the area where he tripped and almost fell a previous time and tries not to think about that being the night Scott was bitten as he hauls himself through the window, tipping unevenly onto the floor. The sound of the shower in the next room tells him where Scott is.

Stiles sinks into the chair beside the window, ignoring the clothes strewn over it. He taps his fingers against the arms, blowing out a breath, and manages eight seconds of waiting before getting up and poking around Scott's desk. He's flicking through a notebook full of world history notes when there's a noise from behind him, and he spins around and shrieks.

He flounders away from the baseball bat already swinging through the air behind him and stumbles over his own feet, missing the bed completely and landing painfully on the floor. It's only then that he realises that Scott is the one holding the bat, and he drops the hand shielding his face heavily with relief, slumping against the floor.

"Stiles! What the hell are you _doing_ here?"

"I just came to talk! Dude, why the hell do you still have that thing? You have _fangs_! And... little werewolf claws!"

Scott look as though he's deeply considering wielding the bat a second time, but finally he lowers it and extends a hand down to Stiles with a sigh. "I can't attack a stranger with claws, Stiles."

"Right, yeah, that... definitely makes sense." Stiles grasps at Scott's arm and uses it to haul himself to his feet, rubbing his back where he'd landed with a grimace. Scott's dressed only in a towel and his hair is still dripping, which means Stiles must have been so distracted he didn't even notice the shower stopping.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Scott's still frowning, and Stiles gestures.

"You're not even gonna get dressed first?"

"Why do I... _Fine_." Scott turns to tug some clothes out of his dresser as though they've done him some kind of personal injustice, and Stiles turns his back and thumbs through a well-read Incredible Hulk comic until Scott drops onto the bed.

"Stiles."

"Scott." Stiles drops the magazine and turns. Scott isn't repeating the question, but Stiles throws his hands up anyway. "We need to talk, alright? We have to talk about what happened, otherwise you're going to hate me forever and I'm going to hate you for hating me, and probably hate myself for hating you, and I don't particularly want any of that."

He waits, but Scott just sits there like he's expecting Stiles to continue. Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Don't you-... want to say anything?"

"Like what? What do you want me to say, Stiles? _You slept with Allison_ ," and suddenly Stiles is glad Ms. McCall isn't home, because this could get loud, "Allison, Stiles!"

"And it was a mistake! You forgave her for it, why are you punishing me and not her?"

"I didn't _forgive_ her, Stiles, I just-"

"What, just because she's pregnant, she gets a free pass?"

"No, it's not like that!" Scott stands up from the bed and Stiles instinctively takes a cagey step back, and berates himself for it immediately. Scott doesn't seem to notice, "Yeah, she's pregnant, and she's going through a really tough time right now. She just needs someone."

"And I don't? She has _me_ , okay? So don't pretend like you're all she's got to rely on. Because me and her have been looking out for each other, for _months_ now, while you guys - you guys get to arbitrarily decide when we're allowed to speak to each other."

Scott looks more furious with every word. "You're saying it's _my_ fault that you slept with my girlfriend?"

"No! And dude, at the time, she wasn't even..." He stops himself at the look on Scott's face and changes tack. "Never mind. Look, I'm just saying that there are a lot of circumstances at play here so it's not all on me, alright? And I'm _sorry._ "

The last part is half-shouted at a volume much louder than he meant, and the room is suddenly blanketed in silence. Stiles sags suddenly, all the argument deserting him. "I'm sorry. I didn't think... I didn't think. And-and I'm really... I'm sorry."

At Scott's continued reticence, Stiles glances to the door and wonders if he might get away this time without saying something unbelievably stupid (unlikely, considering, you know, that he's Stiles). But then Scott looks down at his hands, with considerable reluctance.

"We had to keep you away, Stiles. Derek said."

Stiles rolls his eyes, looking down at the desk. "Yeah, I already know that part. It's okay, I'm over it." His voice betrays how unconvinced he still is. "And you joined Derek's pack too, which is fine, you know, 'cause Derek's a way better Yoda than I was-"

Scott catches the lie, perceptively. "No, you don't get it. It wasn't anything like that, we _had_ to. It was to protect you."

Stiles stops fiddling with the edge of a notebook.

"It was the alpha pack. Derek said that they're... like a kind of werewolf police, but not really, like," Scott wrinkles his nose, "Look, just ask him about it. The-the point is that they're seriously paranoid about law enforcement. Like, _really_ paranoid. They heard about the kanima and they came to stop people from finding out."

Stiles listens to the words with a growing sense of unease. "My... Dad?"

Scott nods vigorously, as though happy that Stiles understands. "Derek thought if you were involved then your dad would be in danger. That's why he... he told us to-"

"But my dad wouldn't do anything, you know he wouldn't... Hurt you, or tell anyone-"

"Yeah, Stiles, we know that, okay? They didn't."

"Well, why couldn't you just _tell_ me? Tell me to stay away from you guys for a few months, I could have done that."

Scott gives him that look, the _I've known you for years and you can't bullshit me_ look. "You wouldn't have. Derek said that... if we gave you anything, you'd take it. Don't take this the wrong way, Stiles, but you're really stubborn."

"I'm a Taurus, it's kind of my thing." He jokes after a moment, but it's restrained, lacks his usual flair.

Stiles nearly laughs. Or cries, or just sighs, he hasn't made a decision about it yet. He settles for dropping onto Scott's bed. And oh my God, Scott's _right_ , because there's no way in hell Stiles would have backed off and just let the 'alpha police' do their thing. If he'd realised that just being around put his dad in the firing line he would have been on Derek's case about it constantly, trying to keep them away through any means. By keeping him out of the loop they almost definitely protected him the best way possible.

"That's probably the stupidest plan in the whole world."

Okay, so it doesn't mean he'll suddenly be all supportive about it.

Scott grins slightly and sits down beside him, and Stiles relaxes, curling the soft sheets in his fingertips. They're not where they were yet, but they'll get there, he thinks. Probably.

"Wait, what's to stop him from being in danger still?"

"...The alpha pack's gone, dude. They left like, last month." Scott gives him a funny look, and Stiles stares.

"Seriously? And you didn't come running straight to my window, _why_?"

"I thought you hated me!" Scott protests, and Stiles remembers the argument with guilt.

"Oh my God, Scott - okay, what I said? Ignore it. Ignore everything. It was stupid, I was just really mad and I said stupid things. And especially about the whole, not-trusting thing? Definitely not true. I should have, and I was a complete idiot."

Scott shakes his head, and a droplet of water or two hits the mattress. "Don't worry about it."

Stiles snorts out a laugh and stares at his hands, but he doesn't push it. Of course Scott would forgive him, because Stiles is spiteful and he knows it but Scott is probably the nicest guy in the whole world. It takes him a second to notice that Scott's staring at him.

"What?"

"I hit you pretty hard." Scott winces, and Stiles ducks his head again to attempt to conceal the bruise with his arm as he scratches the back of his neck, though he knows it's pointless.

"Oh - yeah, it's fine. You really put your back into it, you know, I'm very proud of you."

"Shut up, Stiles." Scott shoves at his shoulder and Stiles pretends to fall off the bed to reward himself with Scott's laugh.

It's not until he's about to leave later that Scott grabs hold of his sleeve, with furrowed brows.

"Wait! That means... You're not going to ComicCon?"

Stiles braces himself in the doorway, doubles over and laughs until his stomach hurts.

*

So Scott's speaking to him again and the rest of them are acting as though nothing even happened, and combined with the fact that Allison's starting to show, Stiles has noticed the rumour mill at school kind of go into overdrive. It's not long before Lydia reappears in the picture and she and Allison, without Stiles even seeing what happened, are suddenly BFFs again. Allison tells Stiles during movie night (hey, traditions can't be broken for anybody, but it's Back to the Future so they know all the words anyway) that Lydia never actually took over his role all that much. She actually distanced herself quite smartly from them, especially after Jackson left, because aside from Scott she didn't know or trust the rest of them nearly enough to do more than basic guidance, minimal logistical stuff.

Stiles pretends he doesn't feel relieved to hear it, and also that he isn't happier when Allison hints with the two of them around, Lydia might feel more comfortable about it.

Of course, then Stiles had to go and ask if Allison actually would be involved again, which kind of ruined the mood. Well, she didn't say no, at least.

He tells her he hasn't made a decision himself yet, but they both know what it'll be.

It just leaves Derek, Stiles thinks. The final problem.

Well, actually not the final problem, considering he still checks around corners occasionally for Allison's dad, hasn't gone within a mile of their house, and also kind of has a baby on the way that he doesn't think he really believes in yet, but still. He's bummed about the fact that they still haven't invited him to any of their pack meetings.

Although when he mentions this to Scott, all he gets is a bemused stare.

"Dude, what the hell are pack meetings?"

"You know, like where you all meet up? Talk about whatever's going on, bond, you know, that sort of..." He falters, "Seriously? You guys don't talk at _all_ outside of your training?"

"Yeah, we hang out-"

"With Derek?" Scott's bewildered look gives him his answer, and Stiles makes the decision to go speak to Derek. Soon. Like, any day, seriously. Oh, it'll happen.

It happens. Eventually.

*

Eventually, of course, he does run into Chris Argent, and makes an explicit mental note that the man does not appreciate grandpa jokes nor reminders that it could be a little werewolf baby instead, especially not aided by helpful gestures. They're not on great terms, which is why Stiles has a contained freakout when he gets a call from the guy, not aided by Scott's sage 'been there' nodding. But although he sounds gruff on the other end of the line, he doesn't sound angry.

"I'm turning one of the room in the house into a nursery."

"Uh, great! That's a good idea. Um. Good. Good."

There's a pause, like he's irritated about spelling it out. "Your father informed me you were willing to help out."

Stiles lowers his hand from where he was anxiously rubbing the back of his neck. "Right! Oh God, of course. Yeah. I'll do whatever. Anything."

There's another pause during which Stiles can almost hear the man grimacing, but then he's back, "Allison needs a ride to choose paint."

The phone goes dead, and Stiles looks at it in surprise before dropping to the sofa.

"You're going be there all day." Scott doesn't take his eyes away from the TV screen, Xbox controller buttons clacking under his fingers.

"Is that like, right now? Does he mean right now?"

"You should probably be quick."

"Don't feel the need to clean up or anything." Stiles reaches for his keys and zips up his hoodie. "Or feel sympathy. Or hold a funeral."

"You brought this on yourself!" He hears Scott call as he heads out to his Jeep, and doesn't reply, because he really did.

Stiles does spend most of the next month's free time at Allison's house practically overhauling the entire room, though, which probably says something about his state of mind. He takes Allison to appointments, helps her shop for whatever she needs and makes her laugh with his giraffe impression in the aisle full of stuffed toys, and somehow also keeps up with his homework, which is probably the only thing keeping his dad off his back. He does notice the looks he's getting from him, but they're never accompanied by words, and he can deal with that, for now.

He's holding everything together. But it feels precarious, like something could break at any moment. So his relationship with both his dad and Derek are just two more things he doesn't have time for right now. They're just more things to add on the pile that could topple at the slightest gust of wind, and maybe if he keeps telling himself that then he'll believe it.

Besides which, Derek's probably busy enough himself, with...

"...Oh my God." Stiles says hollowly, under the palm of his hand. Erica accidentally kicks his leg as she plants herself into a seat beside him, but instead of apologising just leans her arm on the lab table.

"What?"

"Derek doesn't have a girlfriend." It's not a question, and he's not even asking for confirmation, but she laughs anyway. His stomach sinks. How could he have been such an idiot?

"What?" He shakes his head, but she presses on anyway. "Why did you think- Ah." Her expression clears. "That Kali chick, right? She was such a freak. You know she used to walk around without shoes? Like with claws instead of toes, she was the weirdest."

Harris comes in then and his eyes find Stiles immediately like the crappest magical power ever, so Stiles doesn't keep talking in case he's looking for any excuse. Honestly, of all the problems Stiles has right now, Harris is like, the bottom of the lousy pile.

She was one of the alphas. Stiles could have kicked himself for not realising sooner, and he would have done, if Erica hadn't done it herself. He finally steels his resolve and draws from the fragile courage he's been building up. It's time for him to go figure Derek out.

*

The evenings are finally turning balmy for spring, which means it's still light when he reaches the Hale house, thank God. Not that he couldn't do this in the dark, but it's just easier when you can _see_ the guy who kind of broke your heart deliberately in like eight different ways, face to face.

For once, Derek actually isn't waiting for him when he arrives. He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket instead, leans against the Jeep, and waits.

It takes a while, but one moment Stiles is looking around at the budding trees and the next Derek is standing on the porch. Stiles flinches, a muted protest, and then sighs. Derek doesn't talk, though, and everything Stiles had planned to say suddenly deserts him.

Derek looks guarded, like he isn't sure he wants to know why Stiles is here and definitely isn't going to ask. But he won't tell him to leave either. Stiles crosses one leg over the other, hands still fisted in his pockets, and just sniffs in the mild air.

It's been months, it can wait a few more minutes. He's not going to rush a conversation that has everything in the balance.

"You _don't_ have a girlfriend." He says finally, flatly. Derek's gaze doesn't even flicker, but he tilts his head minutely.

Stiles lets out a breath, long and exhausted, and lets his head fall back until he's staring up at the sky. He can hear Derek stepping closer, trampling dead leaves, but still not close enough. He drops his gaze again.

"Can we... _not_? Can we not do this, please?"

Derek breaks his winning taciturn streak to huff slightly. "Do what?"

"This, the whole thing. The accusations, and the insinuations, and the arguing, because I'm done fighting, Derek, okay? I feel like - like I've been fighting so much harder about this than about _anything_ that happened last year, and I'm so tired of it already. I just - I want it over. I want it to stop." He's standing up straighter now, but he's pretty sure his hands might be shaking so they're staying right where they are, clenched tightly. It's so stupid - Gerard, and the kanima, and all the crap from last year that kept him up all night and it's this, of all things, that just exhausts him in every way.

"What do you want, Stiles?"

He's heard the question from Derek a few times before, mostly in a sort of 'get off my land' kind of way, but he knows this is different. This is heavy.

"I want you!" Derek's expression does not inspire confidence, so he plays his ace, because he freakin' _knows_ Derek, "And I want you to stop trying to save me from yourself!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, okay, so don't pretend like this was all for me. You got in too far, and you freaked out, because you suddenly superimposed your face onto me and you thought that you were screwing me up, or ruining me, or - I don't know."

He presses it because Derek is silent, and Derek's never silent if he thinks someone's wrong, especially if it's Stiles. "You just forgot something, Derek: I'm not you. I never was and I won't ever be. Probably. I knew what I was getting into, right from the beginning. And you know what else you forgot? _You aren't her._ "

Derek actually blanches, looks away. Stiles stabs a finger towards him because it's a surprising bolster for his courage. "That! Right there, that's it. That's why I'm not worried. That's why I trust you."

"You shouldn't." It's impassive, but too quiet for Stiles to think he really believes it.

So he sighs, instead, and says quite simply, "You protected my Dad."

He needs Derek to see that that's what matters for him. Over everything, over Stiles' feelings and stubbornness and utter _idiocy_ , Derek still did... the right thing? No, the best thing. Just like Derek always tries to do, even though the execution needs some serious work.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't. Like, an actual reason, not just ' _I'm not a good person_ ' or ' _I come up with terrible, terrible plans when left on my own_ '. I also hope you know I'm not falling for that one twice."

Derek rolls his eyes and Stiles has to hide a grin. Derek turns like he's about to speak, but then he abruptly closes his mouth and Stiles feels a sudden buzzing in his pocket. He pulls out his phone with narrowed eyes.

"That was creepy. And awesome."

He checks the screen and it's Scott, and normally he could ignore it at a moment like this but recently he's been making it a point to prove himself as invaluable as he possibly can, so he lashes out at the air in frustration and then picks up the call, deceptively casually.

"Scott, buddy."

"You have to get over to Allison's house, right now."

"What? Why?" Stiles' startled eyes meet Derek's, who still looks troubled but in a very different way now.

"She's fine, she just - well she's _not_ fine, but she is. She just called me and she's crying but I'm stuck at work so I can't get over there. I just thought, you..." Scott's voice is hesitant, like it just occured to him this might have been a bad idea, so Stiles is quick to reassure him.

"Oh, my God, of course. Yeah, I'll be there. I'm on my way." He hangs up, and doesn't even have to look conflicted before Derek's motioning.

"Go."

He still makes the effort to feel bad, but can't really do anything more than raise a finger warningly, only half-joking. "This isn't over."

He's halfway into the Jeep when he just thinks - fuck it - he darts back and smashes his lips against Derek's, a little too hard and much too clumsily but Derek doesn't seem to mind, doesn't even notice Stiles' blunt fingernails digging half-moons into his arms. It almost reminds Stiles of the first time he kissed Derek, because it was just as inelegant and raw as this, and yet at the same time it couldn't be further away because this time, he knows for sure that Derek will react.

Derek chases him fleetingly as he pulls away, and Stiles doesn't meet his eyes until he's finally back in the Jeep and wrestling with the gearshift to reverse out. Derek's as inscrutable as he ever is, but just as he turns Stiles catches the upward turn of a corner of his mouth and the edges of his eyes soften, and Stiles doesn't bother hiding the smirk. In that moment Derek looks years younger, and Stiles resolves to carry that image with him.

Oh yeah. He can definitely fix this.

*

The door's unlocked when he reaches Allison's house, which worries him a little but he steps into the hallway all the same. Mr. Argent's car isn't around so Stiles pokes around the hall, glancing through doorways and wondering if Scott made a mistake about where she said was, but then he hears a noise from upstairs. He's spent enough time here by now to mostly know his way around, so he gingerly heads up and hesitates in the doorway to the new nursery.

The walls are a soft blue, and there's an empty dresser against one wall. He can see unassembled furniture still sitting around, because nobody's rushing the job, but he picks out a couple of soft toys he helped Allison to choose. Allison herself is sitting in the middle of the floor with her back to him, and Stiles lingers for a moment until he hears a soft sob; then he steps forward, to crouch down beside her. She turns to him and doesn't seem at all surprised or bothered that he's not Scott, dropping the stuffed bear she was holding to clutch at his jacket. He sits beside her and pulls her closer to him, murmuring soft and slightly meaningless reassurances.

"What am I doing, Stiles? I hate this, I hate feeling like this... It was so selfish-"

He shushes her, pets her hair because otherwise he's not doing anything with that hand and it feels awkward. "Allison, come on, no one's going to call you selfish."

"Maybe not that, but... Other things." She's quiet, and Stiles is quiet with her, looking down at the top of her head.

"What?"

She sighs, but at least the crying has calmed. "It's nothing, just - school - I can handle it."

Stiles grits his jaw. He's heard similar things, obviously, because when you're (sort of, maybe) friends with one of the most popular girls in school you can't go so unnoticed any more. Scott especially, thanks to his co-captaincy, and when the pack rejoined them and Stiles appeared at school with a bruise covering a quarter of his face at just around the time Allison started to really show it hadn't been all that difficult to figure out, even for the Neanderthals they went to school with.

He imagines Allison probably got the worst of the nasty comments, and berates himself for not picking up on it sooner. "Allison, you shouldn't listen to what they say, they-"

"I know." Her voice is like steel, suddenly. "I said I can handle it."

She makes to push herself away but he holds on tightly, gently. "Just - hold on, hold on. Okay, I get it, you basically grew up around weapons, you're kickass at gymnastics - you're a regular real-life Katniss. But it's okay to be down about this, alright?"

She's quiet for a long time, but then, in such a small voice that Stiles almost misses it, "I don't think I can."

He's not sure which part exactly she's talking about, but he rubs a hand along her arm anyway, with a grin. "Allison. I've seen you shoot arrows that _literally explode._ Trust me. You've got this."

He waits until she leans back and settles with a sniff, and he can see her face and she's not looking so distraught, so maybe he actually helped a bit.

"And, if all else fails, just remember that you keep a mini crossbow in your bag."

She giggles, or maybe cries a little bit, and Stiles laughs, head lolling to look at his fidgeting hands. She's wiping away the tears when Stiles finally draws in a breath to tell her what he's been thinking about. And it's not 'have you thought about a name yet', because that's so normal that it's just weird and seriously doesn't fit where they are right now.

"We... We should talk about after." He doesn't have to spell it out. After they have a _baby_ , which is still maybe the most unlikely thing Stiles could conceive of. And yet. "About... what's going to happen."

She nods, so either she's been thinking about it too or she agrees, so either way he presses on, though he doesn't look away from his twisting hands. "Here's the thing... I want to be involved. Like, I really do. And I'm actually kinda surprised, because I never really thought - like, of all the people in the world, _me_ , you know," he stops himself before she can speak, "Never mind. Look, the point is, I don't... disagree with your choice. And I definitely don't think you're selfish. But we can't. You and me, you know, even without - I'm doing this wrong."

"It's kind of a unique situation, I don't think there is a wrong way." Allison's smiling, but she still reaches over to grip his hand. He squeezes back, because over the months it's become a sort of shorthand for them, a way for them to reassure without words.

"You and Scott, you know... And I know Scott, so I know that you won't ever be alone. Not that I'm not going to be around, but just... Oh my God, okay. This is going to be one of the hardest things I have to say in probably my life," her grip tightens, "but I have to step away from this. We - like, the whole pack kinda has this ridiculous, complicated... _messed up_ relationship and it works, for us, for now, but it won't forever and my Dad is living proof that it doesn't exactly translate all that well into real life. And I maybe don't need to do the whole," he nearly stumbles over the word, " _dad_ thing. Me and you are never going to have that, but you and Scott might."

He doesn't realise he's crying until he sees that she's tearful in sympathy, and he uses his sleeve to scrub at his face. "You know, maybe there's a way it doesn't have to be such a big deal. Maybe I can just be there, like the best uncle in the whole world. In fact, yeah, you're gonna have to try to keep me away. Using excessive force." She laughs into her hand, her eyes glistening. "But I can't think of another way for this to work."

She kneels up and reaches for him, and pulls him into a kiss. Stiles doesn't have experience with kissing all that many people but he holds onto her to steady her anyhow, and it feels grateful and regretful and _final_ , all at once.

He pulls away to a soft thump against his hand and notes disconnectedly that it's resting on her belly, and finally realises what that means.

_Oh my God, I just felt the baby move. There's an actual baby in there._

Allison's eyes are wide and cautious, but Stiles raises his own to hers all the same, surprised, and then grins. Slow and tentative at first, but then he laughs, incredulously, and she relaxes.

"...That's not the first time?" She shakes her head.

He lies back against the floor and covers his face with his hands, and she joins him, curled over and resting her head against his chest.

"We really screwed up." She says, and he laughs.

" _Chyeah_. Oh yeah." He agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> k warnings: unexpected pregnancy and everything that goes with including discussion of abortion, and mentions of canonical sexual abuse, if there's anything else you'd like me to warn for please tell me


	2. Epilogue

"Move _over_ , Stiles."

Stiles gives a groan at the interruption and tries to roll onto his side, but there's a hand on his shoulder and suddenly he's rolling further until suddenly there's nothing underneath him but air. He panics and reaches out for something to hold onto but isn't quick enough, and he sprawls on the floor at the base of the row of chairs.

He lands sitting upright, through, if a little painfully, so he can at least pretend that it's what he meant to do. He glares at Scott, who just takes one of the seats Stiles had spread himself across with a shrug, and Stiles squints at what he's brought with him.

"Why do you have a balloon that says ' _Happy 50th Birthday_ '?"

Scott looks unconcerned. Stiles stands up and takes a closer look at the whole bunch.

"Dude, this one says ' _Get Well Soon_ '."

"They didn't have any congratulations ones."

"So you bought the rest of the store?" Stiles throws himself onto one of the uncomfortable hospital seats.

"There wasn't anything that really said what I wanted."

"What, like... 'Hey you're having a baby and it's not mine but at least it's definitely not a werewolf and I love you anyway'? Yeah, I heard they stopped making those."

Scott slouches in his chair and grins. Stiles has already done the gift shop trawl, poking through the displays, but somehow nothing in there really screamed meaningful and sentimental, and he's regretting not thinking about bringing any of the stuffed toys from the Argent's full-stocked nursery.

He looks up as Chris Argent mutters something about them being ridiculous and gets up, which makes a change from the hours he spends looking as though the only thing stopping him from killing them both is that he can't decide which one to go for first.

"Someone needs to be in there with her."

"Good luck. She'll kick your ass!" Stiles says, wholeheartedly and unsarcastically, because he and Scott had both tried being supportive and had been unceremoniously expelled with twin aggravated glares from both Allison and Ms. McCall. So when Argent comes back out less than a minute later scowling and takes the furthest seat from them that he can, Stiles doesn't laugh. Well, he doesn't laugh a _lot_. And he definitely doesn't make a joke about being a big badass hunter that makes Scott snort, and his own father, who only got there a couple of minutes ago after his shift finished, look between him and Chris Argent with suspicion.

Stiles' phone ran out of juice hours ago so he settles for stealing Scott's and playing with that one instead, while Scott amuses himself by blowing at the balloons in his hand and watching them knock against each other. The sheriff settles in with a paper and Stiles almost asks him why he's waiting too, but instead gives him an appreciative grin and returns his attention to the cartoon penguin he's trying to beat into submission.

Scott eventually wrestles the phone back from him, and Stiles is finally just about to consider going all the way downstairs to the coffee machine he knows is the good one (or at least the less terrible one) when Melissa McCall appears, and indicates to the two of them. Stiles elbows Scott and pulls himself to his feet, and Scott scrambles over beside him.

"You can go in. Both of you, because she asked, but you're going to be quiet, and you're going to be careful, and you're going to be responsible. Got it?" Scott is nodding at her warning tone, and Stiles tries not to gape in surprise. "Don't make me regret this."

"Definitely. Absolutely. On the... not, regretting it."

Melissa brushes past them with a tilt of her head and Scott turns. "Mom, you're not coming?"

"Adult time, sweetie." Behind them, Chris and the Sheriff still sit in the waiting area, but Stiles glances at Scott and somehow gets the feeling the adults she's talking about aren't their parents. He kind of gets the point, because seriously, if having a baby doesn't make him an adult then he's got no chance.

Allison looks half-asleep when they get to her room, which is empty of anyone else because wouldn't you know it pays to know the nurses here, but she smiles when she sees them, and Stiles is about to take a step closer when Scott grabs at his shirt.

"I'll take the mom, you get the kid."

Stiles snickers and straightens his jacket, glad for the distraction from his nerves because Scott is a _dork_ when he wants to be. True to his word, though, Scott heads over to the bed and Stiles averts his eyes when they kiss quite unashamedly, but then his eyes fall on the cot beside the bed. He's beside it almost before he realises he's moving, and she's there.

There's a baby asleep there, and she's not a theoretical, and she's not a problem they have to deal with, but she is tiny. She's really super small. And she's wrapped up tightly in a blanket with little colourful dinosaurs, and Stiles can't help but caress the edge and her tiny fingers flex in her sleep, and oh God. Stiles is _hooked_.

He doesn't make a sound in case he wakes her up but he huffs out a disbelieving laugh and covers his mouth his forearm, so carefully. He did this. Like, he actually did a thing. And it's at once both the stupidest and the best thing that he's ever done in his life. Last year, creating the mountain ash circle with nothing but sheer force of will? Boom, gone. Blown out of the water.

"Stiles." He hears softly and he looks up. Allison's head is resting back against her pillows but both she and Scott are looking at him, and Scott's got that amused look on his face like they've been trying to get his attention for a while, but Stiles doesn't care. He feels a little dazed.

"Stiles, what's your mom's name?"

"What?"

"Eleanor." Scott supplies for her, and Stiles' gaze lands on him with his mouth parted, because he had no idea that Scott remembered that. Even Stiles has trouble remembering her name some days.

"Uh, yeah. Her-her name was Eleanor." He clears his throat and looks down, back at the cot. "But you don't have to... I mean-"

"Eleanor Victoria Argent." Allison announces after a moment of thought, and Stiles bites the inside of his lip furiously, "What do you think?"

_What does he think._

He stares down at baby Eleanor, and then carefully - holy God, so carefully - slides his hands under her to pick her up. Allison looks like she wants to tell him to be careful but she restrains herself, because she trusts him, and yeah, seriously? Stiles has read literally every parenting book in the local library. He's totally got this.

"I think... that Eleanor is going to have the best parents in the whole world, and she's going to grow up to be a tiny little badass, just like her mommy, and her mommy's mommy. Who terrified me way more than any of the werewolves, and I'm man enough to say it."

He reaches side of the bed that Scott isn't stretched out on and deposits her into her mother's outstretched arms, and can't hide a smirk as Scott strokes a finger down the side of her face and murmurs a gentle, "Hello, baby."

There's not enough room for him to safely rest on the bed beside them but he doesn't mind, because his stomach chooses that exact moment to remind him that he hasn't eaten since this morning.

"Hey, I'm just gonna get something from the vending machines, you guys want anything?" Stiles motions to the door, and Allison shakes her head at him with a smile.

He's halfway down the corridor and thanking God that it's the summer holidays and they don't have to worry about school for a few weeks when he hears his name, and he spins on his heel to see Scott.

"Hey. You change your mind?"

Scott grimaces and looks down, then back up, looking weirdly intense, and Stiles raises his eyebrows inquiringly.

"Is this, like... You wanna make out, or-"

Before he can complete the thought Scott's pulling him closer and just hugging him tightly, and Stiles raises his arms in brief surprise before wrapping them around Scott in return. Scott practically buries his face in Stiles' shoulder and Stiles tries to hug him back just as tightly, though he doesn't have a shot in hell because the guy seriously is crazy strong.

"I'm sorry-"

"Oh my God, dude, don't apologise, _I'm_ sorry-"

Stiles catches sight of his father at the other end of the corridor with a mug of coffee he's clearly bribed away from one of the nurses, but he's not trying to get Stiles' attention, just... watching. After a moment Stiles presses his forehead against Scott's shoulder, and curls his hands tighter in his jacket.

*

Later when Stiles is back to hammering at that freaking penguin on Scott's phone in the waiting area and Allison's dad is sitting with her while she sleeps, he doesn't notice at first when Scott tenses beside him.

"Scott? What is it, is it Allison? Is it..."

Scott shakes his head and relaxes, grinning to dispel any impending panic attack from Stiles. "It's okay, it's nothing." He waits until Stiles' father is looking away before making a vague gesture, jutting his head.

Stiles narrows his eyes. Scott does it again, trying to indicate the... the doorway? Stiles throws his hands up in a shrug, and Scott rolls his eyes.

"Derek's outside, Stiles." He snatches the phone away from Stiles and holds it up, because the sheriff is looking at them again with suspicion. "I just... got a text."

Stiles snorts and stands up, but stops himself before he makes to leave, with a hesitant glance to his dad. The sheriff waves an unenthusiastic hand.

"Go. But we'll talk about this later."

"Got it."

Derek's leaning against the Camaro across the street from the hospital, at the edge of the forestline, and Stiles sticks his hands into his jacket pockets as he nears him, mirroring him. Derek's expression is surprisingly cheerful, and Stiles realises abstractly that his own grin is kind of scary wide.

"Hey."

"Stiles."

Derek doesn't move, doesn't take a step closer, and Stiles stops on the other side of the empty road. It's pitch-black, must be the middle of the night, though Stiles hasn't checked a clock in a while because after the eighth hour of labour it got a little pointless, and he's had enough coffee that it doesn't make a difference anyway.

"You wanna come see my baby?"

Derek does smirk at that, though it might just be in reaction to Stiles' still-incredulous grin because _what the fuck, his baby_.

"I think Allison might not agree with that."

Stiles rethinks the idea, and nods in agreement. "Actually yeah, let's not do that. Yet."

Derek huffs out a sigh, looks away from him almost as though he's embarrassed and Stiles is about to ask what's going on when he brings something out from behind his back - a little toy wolf, with beady dark eyes and shaggy grey fur. The moment Stiles registers what it is, he throws his head back and laughs loudly at the sky.

"Are you serious?"

"Well, if you don't want it." Derek shrugs, but he makes no move to lower his arm or look any less smug. Stiles steps forward and takes it out of his hands, still chuckling, and examines it.

" _Yeah_ , I want it! This is perfect, Scott's gonna freak. Derek, God, this is - _thank_ you."

He pulls Derek into a one-armed hug and feels Derek hesitate the same way Stiles did earlier, before enveloping him. Stiles puts the wolf on top of the Camaro and uses both of his now-free arms to cling to Derek tightly, relishing the similarity in height that means Derek can nestle his face against Stiles' neck and Stiles can breathe Derek in, the foresty smell that feels so familiar now. They stand that way for what feels like an hour but is probably barely a fraction of that, until Derek finally releases him. He stumbles slightly, more tired now than he thought he was, and Derek steadies him.

He picks up the wolf again and waggles it at Derek, before starting to back away. "We should... We should do that again, the whole, uh... The hugging thing. Anyway I'm gonna get back inside, so, you can get back to your pack - your pack stuff-"

" _The_ pack." Derek's eyeing him in that way that makes Stiles think he's missed something obvious.

"What?"

"Not my pack. They're yours too."

"But... Human." Last time he checked, which was actually pretty frequently. The dubiousness on Derek's face suggested that wasn't a big deal. "Are you serious?"

He somehow puts his whole body into fist-bumping the air, and Derek rolls his eyes and reaches for his car door handle. Stiles doesn't stop grinning all the way back inside and up to Allison's room.

It's dark now, and she's asleep, hair fanned over the pillow. The moonlight shines directly through the window and keeps the room well-lit enough for him to see by, and he makes his way around to the cot again. Eleanor stirs as he practically scoops her up, but he shushes her and sits in the chair beside the beside table, resting her cautiously in his arm. She settles against him easily, mouth burbling soundlessly, and Stiles feels his chest ache but in a good way, this time.

He lets her grip his finger in one tiny hand, rests his head against the back of the tall chair, and takes a deep breath.

He's not sure how long he sits there with her reassuring warmth in his arms, just thinking, but when there's a knock on the door he has to focus sharply to avoid startling.

"Come on, Stiles. I'm gonna drive you home."

He motions for his father to come closer, and Stiles stands and delicately transfers her to his father's arms.

"Careful - you gotta hold her like..." The look his father gives him is deeply derisory, and Stiles immediately feels stupid. "Right, obviously. Never mind."

He can't hold back a grin, though, as his father looks down at her and his face softens.

He leaves the wolf at the end of the cot after a quick and gentle kiss to the baby's forehead, and Stiles dozes in the front seat of the cruiser most of the way home. His father stops him in the kitchen before he can slouch upstairs, and Stiles remembers the talk he was supposed to be waiting for.

"Son... I saw you, outside, with Derek Hale." His father starts, and Stiles' stomach sinks. "I know... that you're going to be eighteen soon, and I probably won't be able to stop you for much longer. And over the past year, you've been _incredibly_ irresponsible. Let's face it, you've made a hell of a lot of mistakes. And I think you know that."

Stiles stares down at his hands, hating how exhausted his father sounds, how tired he is that he just wants this to be over so he can go to sleep. But then his father lets his folded arms drop, and sighs.

"God knows I've made enough mistakes of my own." He pauses. "But the way that you've stepped up these past few months... Stiles, you've really made me proud. And I think your mom would be too." Stiles digs his fingernails into his palm as hard as he can and swallows, hard. "Though I don't doubt she'd give us both a heap of crap for what we put each other through."

One side of Stiles' mouth lifts into a smile and he scrubs a shaking hand over it, nodding. But his father isn't finished.

"I mean, Jesus, Stiles, when I said you had to prove to me that you were trustworthy again, this wasn't _exactly_ what I meant." His dad reaches for him and rests a hand on the side of his neck, and Stiles meets his eyes, finally, seeing them as shining and watery as his own. "But I raised a good, and decent kid. And I just hope he knows what he's doing."

Stiles can't say anything, just nods, furiously swallowing against the lump on his throat, and his father pulls him into a tight hug, and this is Stiles' third one tonight but it's pretty strong competition for the other two. And finally, Stiles can sleep.

*

"Stiles, when I said I probably couldn't stop you any more, this was not what I meant."

Stiles springs up at the sound of his Sheriff Stilinski's wary voice in the living room doorway, and abandons his murmured conversation with a heated stare in Derek's direction.

"Thanks, dude. You couldn't have said something?"

Derek just shrugs, unconcernedly, and doesn't stand up, which Stiles imagines his dad probably appreciates in the efforts of looking non-threatening. "Dad, can you just... You want to sit down for this."

"Do I." He's using his Sheriff voice, complete with wholly unimpressed stare, and Stiles flounders.

"Okay, just - remember, like way way back, when I said that Derek might have an actual... legitimate reason for hanging around?" He gets his father's attention away from Derek, finally. "I think it's time to tell you the reason."

His father sits down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, i like to fuse several kink meme prompts into monster length fics and I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMALL THINGS
> 
> ok this is kind of seriously not what I expected to ever write but well i hope it wasn't terrible for you or whatever


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